


197 NE Pine Way

by Lithosaurus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Except A Couple People, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘If asked, every resident of 197 NE Pine Way in Marvel, New York would say that all blame lay with the United States Postal Service. This explanation, while oversimplified, would be correct.’</p><p>Five college students and a dog in a house which is almost definitely haunted with a landlord who may be a cyborg. Certainly, nothing will go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kirby Hall, Room 316, Or:  Effective But Inefficient (And Not Recommended) Methods of Housing Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated 'Teen' for discussion of death and passing references to suicide and pedophilia.

 If asked, every resident of 197 NE Pine Way in Marvel, New York, would say that all blame lay with the United States Postal Service. This explanation, while oversimplified, would be correct. If any of them were _responsible_ it was Tony but assigning blame to a person would be counter-intuitive. The Postal Service, on the other hand, was at fault for the mess involving multiple assassination attempts, a sentient corgi, two separate terrorist sects, and a house fire entirely because they failed to do the one thing they are supposed to; deliver mail.

Specifically, they failed to deliver Steven Rogers’s application for a housing exemption. Stanley University, while offering an amazing program for veterans seeking higher education (which was Steve’s reason for attendance over a school closer to home) required all incoming freshman to live on campus or file an exemption. Steve, as a twenty-four year old former army captain, would have qualified easily.

Except the Postal Service lost his exemption application.

Later, Tony would theorize that the universe has a minimum amount of pain expected for certain actions and college applications were one of them. Steve managed to get out dealing with SU’s financial aid office (though veterans’ services really wasn’t any better) so the universe corrected itself. Following a serious of increasingly annoyed emails with the housing office, breaking a lease in an apartment he had never even seen, and a rushed housing application, Steve got shoehorned into the general freshman hall. Compared to some of the army barracks he had lived in, Kirby Hall was luxurious but that said more about the US Army than Kirby itself. The cinderblock walls were dotted and scarred with decades of freshmen. The heating and soundproofing tried admirably but were nothing compared to needs of several hundred college students. The shared kitchen and rec room were practically papered with graffiti of the Nintendo character with the same name. That said, Steve preferred his third story room to a tent in Afghanistan. His dislike of Kirby Hall stemmed more from the fact that he had to stay there at all, even if it ended up being just a semester.      

Steve arrived the week before classes started with a sour attitude and an email from housing about his roommate, Anthony Irons. Several awkward orientation activities later, Anthony still hadn’t shown up or responded to any of Steve’s emails. He left for his 8 AM English class with a thought to talk to his RA (who was five years younger than him) about what to do if a student didn’t show.

When Anthony did show he managed to convince Steve that he would be an abysmal roommate without saying a word. 

He didn't quite meet a peson as much as an unpacked explosion first. Steve opened the door to the dorm to see boxes, both empty and full sprawled over the floor. Stacks of clothing and books spilled over the midline of the room as well as Anthony’s bed, desk, and chair. A flat-screen perched on of the wardrobe. A stereo, which had taken Steve’s coffee maker’s spot on top of the mini-fridge, blasted a Led Zeppelin guitar riff. In the middle of it all, mostly obscured by a laundry hamper full of electronics, a dark tousle of hair poked up.

Steve walked the rest of the way into the room to get a better look. Once around the hamper he could see his roommate for the next four months. His hark was dark and loosely curled, falling over his forehead, a face still baby-round face with large brown eyes angled down over a laptop. His battered jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt combo matched the mess of clothing that had somehow already dispersed across the room. Three hours had passed and Steve’s organized room was nearly unrecognizably.

Anthony glanced up at Steve, narrowed his eyes at him, and continued typing. 

“Hello,” Steve tried. 

“Hey,”

“You’re Anthony?” 

“Yep. Steven? Cool. You reliving glory days or trying to pretend you’re not any older than the kids on the standard track?” 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re, like, thirty.” Anthony didn’t roll his eyes, mostly because he was focusing on the laptop in front of him. “What’re you doing in a dorm?”

“I was in the army before this. My exemption from the on-campus rule got lost in the mail. I knew it would be weird but I wasn’t expecting a twelve year old.” Steve regretted the combative words before he even said them.

“I’m 18, sorry to disappoint. Try growing a mustache, you’ll fit the stereotype better. More kids will stay away from you.”

“Hilarious. You’re not 18.”

“Yeah, just baby faced.” Maybe for 16. The fact that he looked Steve dead in the eye when he said it was the most convincing part.

“Whatever. It’s just Steve. Nice to meet you.”

Anthony’s eyebrow’s arched up in a ‘yeah, right’ expression. “I filed out part of the roommate agreement form the RA gave me.” He jerked his head at his desk.

Steve picked his way through the forest of items spread over the floor and scanned the papers covering the desk, trying to ID the agreement without nosing into Anthony’s business. He eventually found and carefully extracted it. 

Completing the agreement ended up in a shouting match. Perhaps it was Tony’s joke about Steve offing himself in the room or Steve refusing to budge on the standard ‘no pets’ rule that was partially written (‘Not even a fish? What’s your damage?’) but Steve ended up just filling out the rest of the form by himself after Tony stormed out of the room with his laptop. 

Strictly speaking, Steve and Anthony didn’t actually talk for two weeks after that. There were the typical nods and eye contact and maybe somebody grunted but no significant words were exchanged.  This was probably the only reason they didn’t end up creatively killing each other. However, in those two weeks Steve learned a good deal about Anthony. For instance, he didn’t sleep. He occasionally showed up in his bed at strange hours but any sort of sleeping schedule was nonexistent. He disappeared for hours at a time and came back covered in oil. He constantly listened to music at alarming decibel levels. The stereo (which was still in a passive aggressive territory war with Steve’s coffee maker) blasted classic rock playlists but headphones and a nasty look came out when Steve was in the room. Not that that made a difference, Steve could still hear every word.

His wardrobe seemed to consist only of the colors red and black, with some variety in his jeans. He had two laptops. One for schoolwork and one for the coding project he spent hours on. If Tony was in the room he was passed out, eating with the intention to pass out soon, scribbling notes on scraps of paper, or typing away on his coding laptop. He seemed to survive off of cheap power bars, Cheetos, and coffee.

Also, alcohol.

 A surprising amount of alcohol.

Steve didn’t know how a (supposedly) 18 year old who looked 12 managed to get anything alcoholic in this town but he did. He never saw any bottles in the room (maybe Anthony figured that was a surefire way to get reported) but he could smell alcohol on his roommate an alarming amount of the time. It was actually the alcohol that got Anthony and Steve to talk to each other

Steve was politely ignoring the rather smashed teenager across the room. He knew he should say something or report him or put in at least a bit of effort regarding the underage drinking but that would probably bring on another fight and, as annoying as Anthony was, it was only for the semester and the trouble of reporting him and getting a new roommate wasn’t worth it.

“Sorry.” Anthony slurred rather suddenly.

“Anthony, you’re drunker than any teenager should ever be, don’t feel guilty over whatever the alcohol is making you think.” Steve sighed but didn’t look up. “You’ll still hate me in the morning.”

“Not th’ alcohol.” Anthony answered.

“Fine, I’ll bite.” Steve closed his notebook book and tuned to face his roommate. “What are you sorry about?”

Anthony was sprawled on his bed, facing the ceiling with a look of intense concentration on his face. His laptop was laying forgotten on his pillow, inactive for once in it’s life.

“I’m a Stark.” He confessed. 

“If you got high and are going on about George Martin-” 

“Nah. Have you actually read those?”  Anthony swung his head around and concentrated on a point slightly above Steve’s shoulder. “Stark as in the weapons manufacturing company.”

Steve paused trying to determine if this was nonsensical drunk ramblings or guilty drunk ramblings. 

He vaguely recalled that Howard Stark, manufacturer of the majority of his guns, body armor, and weaponry, had a son and that that son may have been named Anthony. Now that he was staring right at it, he could see the family resemblance between the Howard Stark he’d seen in press releases and his drunk, possibly high, roommate. 

“Name change at enrollment- safety reasons, ya’ know.”

“Why would you feel bad? Stark tech’s kept plenty of soldiers alive.” Steve leaned back in his chair. Anthony’s eyes tried to follow him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I just drank a bit too much.” Anthony waved his hand. Or tried, he didn’t seem to be fully in control of his limbs. “But, yeah, I know that we have tech on your side but that mess with the Jericho missile and…” He frowned. “I’m not supposed to talk about this.”

“Ah, trade secrets and the such. Seriously, I think you might have drunk something that wasn’t alcohol. Not that you should be drinking anyway. And- whoa!” Steve dove to catch Anthony as he slid off his bed. “Anthony?” He only slumped over in Steve’s arms. For a moment Steve considered just dropping his roommate back on his bed with his head turned and a garbage bag under his face. He glance at the teenager passed out mostly on the floor and partly in his arms then hefted him up and carried him across campus to the health center.

Anthony wasn’t the only one getting his stomach pumped that night which meant that the rather harried nurses at the center weren’t too focused on asking why an eighteen year old was being carried in.

“Every year is the same.”  She griped as Steve tried to stay out of her way. “The first month is the worst. Rich kids come in, thinking they’re hot shit and drink like they have two livers. You a friend of his?” She glared at Steve and stabbed him in the chest with one finger. “I’m assuming you are. At least you brought him in. Next time watch his drinks, someone slipped him something.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sucking bile out of a child’s stomach, don’t ma’am me.” She snapped.

 

Steve stayed in the clinic’s waiting room while Anthony was rehydrated and kept in one of the narrow gurneys pending his return to conscious. The clinic, like every other medical facility he had ever tried to sleep in, had chairs seemingly designed for discomfort. Despite that and the noise of college clinic on a Friday night, he drifted off. 

“You’re still here?” Anthony’s voice shook him out of his doze.

“Well, I didn’t want you to worry about what happened.” Steve explained. “You came back to the room hammered and passed out mid-sentence. Figured this was the smartest course of action; didn’t want you waking up not knowing what happened or where you were.”

“That would work better if I knew where we were.” 

“The clinic on campus.” Steve glanced at him sideways. “You don’t know where that is, do you?”

“No, missed out on campus tour ‘cause I arrived late.” Anthony shrugged. “Any idea how I got back to the room? I don’t remember anything past nine o’clock.” 

Steve shook his head. “You worried that someone was trying to roofie you specifically?” 

Anthony shook his head. “See you back in the room?” He turned to go. Steve stood and followed him.

The sun was beginning to cast a watery glow over the campus as they walked back. Once outside, Anthony recognized where they were (“So _that_ _’_ _s_ what this building is”) but didn’t try to lose Steve on the way back. After a moment of silently walking across the quiet campus, Steve spoke up.

“Do you remember anything about what you said when you got back to the room?”

“No, I don’t remember anything.” Anthony narrowed his eye. “Do I say something embarrassing? Did I make things awkward? I think I already have but-”

“Either drunk you has a vivid imagination or you may have accidentally exposed some state secrets.” Steve watched his roommate’s face out the corner of his eye as he spoke. 

Anthony’s face sobered the moment Steve said ‘imagination’ but was schooled into an incredulous grin by the time he finished. 

“Really, what sort of ‘state secrets’?” He laughed but it fell a bit short.

Steve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Anthony took another step before turning to face him. The two watched each other carefully for a moment.

“You said you’re related to the largest arms manufacturer in America.”

Anthony winced. “Yeah, I am. Kinda pick up more than I should know. What did I tell you?”

Steve answered with a question. “How old are you actually?”

“Fifteen.”

“ _Fifteen?_ ”

“That’s the part you’re caught up on?” 

Steve looked his roommate over again. He had suspected he was younger than he claimed but a fifteen year old taking college courses?  Now that he knew for sure that Anthony was so much younger, he couldn’t help but read just a bit more fear and uncertainty into his expression. 

“How did you get the school to let you in?” 

“Faked transcripts from a false identity.” Anthony explained. “I went to MIT last year. I’m more than capable but as far as Stanley University is concerned, I’m Anthony Irons, eighteen-year-old son of an upper-middle class entrepreneur in Palo Alto who aced the ACT. That last part isn’t faked, anyway.” 

“A perfect 32?”

“What, like it’s hard?” 

Steve grinned at the reference but it didn’t last long. 

“You mentioned something about the Jericho missiles.” Anthony flinched and the humor left his expression. “I only ask because you seemed pretty shook up over it.”

“You know what the Jericho project was right?”

“It was supposed to be the next drone project, something big.”

“Yeah it was big. It’s been trashed. Someone was selling information and weaponry to a ring of insurgents.” Steve felt his stomach sink; he has seen those stolen weapons, seen what they could do when turned around. “My father scrapped the project when he realized what was going on. Said there was a fatal design flaw but he really didn’t want the Jericho getting into anti-American hands. He caught some heat from the DOD and the board.” Anthony paused, swallowed and continued in a quieter voice. “Last spring someone tried to fake an accident at our house in Manhattan. The gas leak killed our butler but my parents and I survived. They figured I’d be a target or hostage bait so the MIT plan got scrapped and now I’m ‘Anthony Irons’.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Anthony’s shoulders were slightly hunched, even if his chin was angled up defiantly. Steve realized he was waiting for a hit of some sort. 

“You were apologizing.” 

“Stark weaponry has killed and wounded American soldiers.” Anthony lifted one hand, palm facing up. “You’re an American soldier.” He raised the other and brought them together. “Drunk logic. Yay!” 

Steve frowned. “But you were apologizing. You didn’t do anything.” 

Anthony rolled his eyes. He turned and continued walking towards Kirby. Steve quickly caught up. 

“Who chose the alias?” He asked. 

“Our head of security, I’m pretty sure. Why?” 

“You don’t look like an Anthony.” 

“Yeah, well, take that up with my parents 15 years ago.” He laughed, presumably more relieved than amused. They reached the dorm walked together up the stairs. Anthony picked his way through the mess still coating his half of the room and flopped face down on the bed, carefully avoiding his laptop. Steve followed his example in the more orderly half. 

“Hey, Anthony?” Steve asked after a moment. 

“Mmmmph?”

“What about ‘Tony’?” 

Anthony shifted to look his roommate in the face. “‘Tony Irons’” He tried. “Sounds less like old money.” 

“And here I was just suggesting it ‘cause I thought it fit your face better.”

“Just so you know, you can’t talk shit about names and faces.” Tony bit back. “You’re ‘Mr. Rogers’ and have a jawline to match.” 

“Hey, it’s Captain Rogers, if you don’t mind and you shut up about my jawline until you grow out of that baby face.” 

“I’m only babyfaced because I’m fifteen, genius.” 

“Not according to the school you’re not.” Steve laughed. “Try growing a beard or something.” 

Tony muttered something about beards and men who iron their shirts but buried his face in his pillows and didn’t say anything for another twelve hours.

-

Tony was still insufferable. His lack of a sleep schedule kept Steve up more than once, the roofie incident did nothing to curb his drinking, he was messy, and seemed to be incapable of noticing when he made people uncomfortable. Tony also was a genius and, though he sucked at showing it, latched onto Steve with the affection of an orphaned duckling. It reminded Steve of some of other the foster kids who had ended up in the Barnes household. The ones who had never really had anyone to stick up for them until a caseworker stuck them in with the Barnes crowd. Once they learned to trust the family and believed that they were being kept around because they were actually cared for, you got to see their clumsy attempts at displaying affection. 

He remembered Summer, the chronic run-away. She’d occasionally disappear for days seemingly more out of habit than actual desire to escape. When she returned, shamefaced, it would be with a wad of cash but no explanation. It wasn’t insantatneous but Tony began to show he liked him in his own way. He would sneak Steve’s Chem labs out of his bag and edit them with snarky comments (‘I sure hope your lab partner put this thesis together otherwise we need to talk about the basics of electron orbitals”, ‘Nice O-ring but next time remember the difference between benzene and butane’) then never acknowledge that he had anything to do with it. It eventually evolved into an equally beneficial exchange. Steve would edit Tony’s English papers (‘Please remember that the audience can’t see every connection you make, Tony’, ‘The only reason you included this reference is because wanted to annoy your prof, take it out.’) and helped him get by in the required fine arts credits.

The name ‘Stark’ never came up. Tony might make passing references to his silver spoon upbringing and Steve occasionally brought up his military stint but that was as close as they got. Steve knew when someone didn’t want to talk about their parents (he grew up in a foster family; bio-parents were a sensitive subject) and his discharge from the military wasn’t without its emotional and physical pain. The scar on his right collar bone was still sensitive and the fact that Bucky was still overseas getting shot at sometimes made it hard to sleep. There were other things that made it hard to sleep as well but Steve wasn’t nearly as ready to acknowledge that. If Tony had a hard time looking him in the eye the mornings after Steve jolted awake and slipped out to the library, neither of them recognized it. 

The Monday before Thanksgiving their unspoken agreement broke. 

“What’re you doing this Thursday?” Tony asked while they camped out in one of the study rooms in the library. 

“Heading back to my parents’ house in Brooklyn.” Steve replied, aware that this was uneasy territory. “I came from a big family; holidays are always hectic.” 

“Sounds fun.”

“Usually is.” Steve waited a beat. “What about you?” 

“More or less the same deal.” Tony shrugged. “Back to Manhattan. My mother has a few cousins from Boston who’ll be flying in.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t looking forward to the holiday nearly as much. 

“You know,” Steve started. He didn’t know how Tony would take this, didn’t know what assumptions Tony made about ‘foster house’ and ‘big family’ but he was still going to offer. “I’m going to be in Brooklyn all weekend and one more surly teenager won’t make a difference. If you want to, you can stop by. I’ll give you the address.”

It was the wrong move. Tony’s face shut down and his head angled up defensively but he didn’t say anything to show it. “Thanks but I don’t spend much time with my parents and I wouldn’t want to intrude.” The conversation ended there. 

For Steve, Thanksgiving went great. Almost the entire family was there as well as two kids who had been placed in the house awaiting a more permanent location. Bucky was still in Afghanistan (or Pakistan, or Eastern Iran, it was hard to say with him) and Carly had two more months on her latest sentence but there were more than enough people to at least mask their absence; his ever growing number of nieces and nephews made sure of that. There was only one incident that involved any threat of arrest and Becca was enough over her teenaged angst to actual enjoy spending time with the family. 

He drove back to Marvel late Sunday night with leftovers and a good mood. The good mood stopped pretty quick when he could smell the alcohol on Tony from the door. The teenager was draped over his desk with the lights on and the stereo stuck between two radio stations. He was drunk but he was breathing fine and his heartbeat was good. Steve set him on his side in bed with garbage bag under his head. He sighed to himself but still dropped off to sleep.

-

“How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Irons?” Steve wasn’t cruel but flicking on all the lights and shouting at Tony when he had a hangover wasn’t beneath him. His roommate groaned and covered his face. 

“What time is it?” 

“Quarter to eight.” Steve dropped the volume a bit. “I’m leaving for class and wanted to make sure you got up.” 

“Sure you did.” Tony croaked. “Are you going to make sure I’m out of bed and fully dressed before you leave, too?” 

“Nah, that’d be mean.” Steve laughed. “I left some nice, fatty turkey in the fridge, if you’re hungry. If not, try not to puke on any of your classmates.” 

Tony threw a pillow in the general direction of Steve and rolled over. 

Steve made sure Tony knew the offer still stood before Christmas break (“we don’t even really celebrate Christmas, per se; it’s more of two weak period of giving gifts and occasionally ribbing major religions.”) but Tony never showed his face in Brooklyn. Even so, by the time May rolled around, Steve made sure Tony had a full sheet of paper with every way known to man of how to keep in contact including the apartment he got in Marvel for the summer. Tony, because he was Tony and therefore still learning healthy ways to express affection, sent him some post cards from exotic locales with weird messages scratched onto the back. Aside from the occasional non sequitur that probably made sense to Tony, Steve didn’t hear from his friend and former roommate until far later than he should’ve.

-

Steve’s phone only succeeded in waking him up because it vibrated off the window sill onto shoulder and continued to blare right into his ear. He preemptively cursed whoever was calling but still answered. 

“Hey, Steve?” 

“Tony?” He blearily answered.

“Yeah, Mr. Irons calling Mr. Irons-His-Button-Ups.” Tony laughed. 

“Tony, I don’t know where you are right now-” 

“Sacramento.” 

“Okay, I know where you are now but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s… four in the morning here.” Steve knew he shouldn’t be so short with Tony, even if he did sound tipsy but he had gone straight from his night class to bed and had to be up in two hours for his job. 

“Yeah, probably should’ve waited a bit.” Tony at least sounded a bit bad about it. 

“Probably, but I’m awake now.” Maybe an overstatement. “It's good to hear from you but you haven’t called all summer. I’m betting you want to talk about something?”

“Yeah,” Tony didn’t say anything for a long moment. Steve was about to test if he cut out when, “Where are you staying this year?” 

“I was planning on staying in the apartment where I’m at now. Are you okay, you sound like you got a head cold?” 

“Nah, I’m fine. Must be your connection. Sorry about waking you up. It’s good to hear you but I gotta go. See you in two weeks.” 

He hung up before Steve could get in another word. Even if he tried, Steve wouldn’t have gotten back to sleep after that. He sighed and rolled out of bed. Tony’s strange phone call had mostly left the front of his mind while he made breakfast and prepped for his next shift at the art supply shop. He turned on the early news for some background noise. By virtue of his apartment being a postage stamp, he could see the TV from the kitchen so he saw the news report of Howard and Maria Stark’s fatal car crash in full color over the rim of his cereal bowl. 

He turned off the media vultures after they descended into recounting old scandals and rumors. He had already heard more than he wanted to know. Tony’s parents left the gala they were attending around 10 pm local time and the next time they were seen was when their car was pulled out of a ravine. Tony had come up briefly, as well. The platinum blonde reporter made an emotional appeal about the presumably sheltered, lonely only child of the deceased, now an orphane. They showed a picture of Tony and his mother from what looked to be elementary school. 

Steve redialed the number Tony called him from but didn’t get an answer. He tried the number Tony left him in May. It went straight to voice mail. He looked at the clock. It was nearing five, Sitwell would probably be up. He punched in Sitwell’s number but didn’t call for a moment. Not long, just enough time to contemplate what he was about to do. A few minutes and he was sure that this was not only the right thing to do but something he wasn’t going to resent Tony for. 

“Hey, Jasper?” 

“Steve? Do you know what time it is?”

“Sorry if I woke you up but are you still looking for roommates?”

“I backed out, actually.” His ex-lab partner said. “I found a place closer to campus. I thought you had an apartment already?” 

“Something came up.”

“Okay? I can find the number for their landlord, just a second.”

A week later, Steve parked in front the house he would share with Tony and three other yet unseen roommates and tried to ignore the gut feeling that this would end terribly.


	2. 197 NE Pine Way, Or: Haunted Houses Have Horrible Resale Values

Steve’s sense of impending doom wasn’t made any better by the house itself. It was on Pine Way, under a quarter mile north of campus which, while further than his apartment, wasn’t too far to walk. He had introduced himself to the landlord last week and learned the vaguely worrying story of how the house became a rental. The landlord, Coulson (he didn’t give any other name and while Steve knew he was part of the faculty somewhere on campus, he didn’t know where), bought the house in the spring after the previous owner died and the bank put it up after no family member stepped forward. Dead previous owners weren’t exactly promising but after Coulson let slip that the poor old woman had died in the house and that it was put on the market after the spring semester ended because the contractors had multiple accidents remodeling it, ghost story tropes began to surface in the back of Steve’s mind. The late posting explained why Coulson only had three renters lined up before Steve had called. It didn't explain why the house’s exterior still looked like it had spent the last twenty years in the care of a seventy year old.

More than that, the house looked (if Steve was going to be honest) like the set of a bad horror flick. Or maybe a Tim Burton movie, considering the contrast of all the neat, brightly colored small homes surrounding the aging, three story, craftsman monstrosity. The yard surrounding the house was overgrown with bushes growing to the level of the ground floor’s windows, into the roofed area of the car port, and onto the front porch. A solitary alder tree stood in the small front lawn and two narrow strips of grass separated the house from the fences of its next door neighbors. From the outside, the house looked stretched, a side effect of building vertically instead of using the entirety of the small lot.

Coulson’s tour of the house had been slightly rushed (‘I have a faculty meeting to get to within the hour. Hence the suit.’) but covered the basics. The ground floor was mostly an open room of shared living area. The kitchen, complete with appliances older than Steve was, connected to the living room with an open space and an ancient dining table between them. Most of the furniture as left over from the previous inhabitant but something told Steve that the battered, avocado-colored couch jammed between the matching armchairs belonged to a fellow inhabitant. In the rear of the ground floor, a short hallway led onto the back porch with a doorway to a bedroom on one side and a trio of doors for pantry, laundry room and the stairwell on the other.

The second floor contained three other bedrooms, the solitary bathroom (Steve had shared a bathroom with more people but wasn’t looking forward to it) and a folding staircase, steep enough to almost be considered a ladder, to the converted attic. Only one of the second floor bedrooms already showed signs of habitation but when Steve poked his head into the attic he felt sure this would be the room Tony would pick. It approximated two bedrooms with bedframes tucked on opposite side and a curtain strung up along the peak of the roof. The ceiling sloped down at a steep angle nearly to the floor with crescent shaped windows looking out on the street and the overgrown back yard.

“…so I think you’ll really like it.” Steve finished his description of the house over the phone with Tony. “When are you planning on showing up?”

“This summer’s been crazy hectic.” Tony replied. “I’m trying to get over there as soon as I can but there’s, ya’ know, family stuff to take care of.” No mention of ‘family stuff’ being ‘sorting through the worryingly vague will of a multi-billionaire who wasn’t planning on dying any time soon’.

“I get it, just try to get here soon. Moving in’s going to be a pain and I’m not going to help you haul your stuff up three stories after classes start.” Steve said. He would but that wasn’t the point.

“Thanks,” Tony’s voice sounded unusually soft, even over the phone line. “For a whole lotta shit but most recently with this house stuff.”

“Not a problem,” A total lie. “My apartment had some issues that popped up.” He was going to have to invent some excuse before Tony moved in, even if he hadn’t been asked yet a backstory was needed for every lie. A door slammed somewhere in the house and Steve startle enough to almost drop his phone.

“Hey, Tony, I’ll call you back I think one of our roommates might have finally showed up.” Steve hung up and stepped out of his room.

He had finished moving everything in yesterday and while he wasn’t expecting the house to be full (it was still over a week until classes started) the one roommate who was already living here had so far only been theoretical. The room was occupied, toiletries were in the bathroom, and he found perishables in the fridge but no tangible beings since his first tour with Coulson. Until now.

Steve stepped out into the hallway between his room and the stairwell. A man was standing in the kitchen staring at the opened fridge like it might hold the secrets to the universe. If he didn’t have a messenger bag hanging over one shoulder Steve would have been worried about him being a hobo who had found his way in. He didn’t look like he had slept or showered in a few days and his clothes, were a few shades past threadbare. His button up was frayed at the hems and the blazer tucked over the bag was paling around the elbows. Presumably-roommate sighed and ran his fingers through his dark curls which did nothing to the shaggy disorder on his head. He picked up a carton of orange juice and slammed the door before turning around. When he saw Steve he yelped and dropped the juice, taking a step backward into the fridge.

Steve stepped forward with his hands up, trying to make himself look non-threatening. “Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Presumably-Roommate didn’t say anything.

“Uh, I’m Steve? I don’t know if Coulson got in touch with you but I’m one of the new renters.”

“New renters?”

“Yeah, it was kinda a last minute thing.” He explained.

“Oh, okay, I’m Bruce, sorry I haven’t met you yet. I’ve been living out of the physics lab the last few days. One of the TAs was synthesizing niche hallucinogenics in the radiation lab. We got raided and all the lab samples were seized.”

“You have lab samples to be seized in a radiation lab?”

“I’ve been working with some bio majors to see if we can change genetic information using radiation. It can kind of look like a drug lab to a quota filling cop” Bruce shoulders relaxed a bit. Steve could tell a ‘let me tell you everything about my thesis’ lecture coming on.

“Sounds like fun.”

“Not when three years of lab research are confiscation because someone was trying to make the next LSD.” Bruce answered. “I’ve been sleeping in the lab while trying to get our samples back.” He picked up the dropped orange juice and placed it on the counter. “You said ‘new renters’, plural?”

“Yeah, my roommate from last year and I.” Steve answered and walked the rest of the way into the kitchen. “Have you met the other two yet?”

Bruce shook his head. “I got an email from one of them asking if I was allergic to anything but aside from that all I know is what the landlord told me. I’ve been living here the last month and haven’t gotten more than an email from them.”  They continued to talk for a while. Bruce had ended up here as a last resort; his previous living arrangements went out the window with a break-up and he found the flyer on campus after the rent had been marked down. He was working on a masters in Biophysics, hence the messing with genetics and radiation. Bruce, despite his earlier jumpiness seemed in his element when describing how he thought he could revitalized the world of gene therapy. Their conversation slid easily from degrees to personal interests before Bruce eventually excused himself to get some sleep.

Steve debated calling Tony again but eventually decided against it. He’d show, eventually. Now he was sure there was at least one roommate who could talk non-Newtonian physics with.

Clint and Natasha arrived two days following.

Bruce, working on restoring a semblance of sleep cycle, was in his room when they arrived. Considering they showed up before dawn with a U-haul this made sense. Steve had woken up feeling like he couldn’t breathe shortly after midnight and had given up on trying to sleep. Instead, he moved to living room to draw curled up on Bruce’s couch. (“We lived together for _three years_ and all I got out of it is this shitty couch and an unfinished journal article.”)

He had heard the truck pull up and two car doors slamming but continued doodling a stylized version of the decades old kitchen appliances. It wasn’t until he heard the window in the laundry room slide open that he realized something was up. Quietly as he could, he put down his sketch pad, picked up the poker from the mostly ornamental fireplace and padded over to laundry room door.

“There is no way I’m going to fit through that.” A man said. He was quiet but with the window open and his ear pressed to the door, Steve could hear it.

“Maybe if you really wanted to.” A woman replied. “But that doesn’t matter, boost me up and I’ll get the back door for you.”

There were a few rustles then a thump of hands on the washing machine followed by someone landing on the ground lightly.

“See, piece of cake.” The woman teased.

“Maybe if I had your shoulder width.” He snorted. “How are we going to explain this one in the morning?”

“It is the morning, Barton.”

“You know what I mean, Nat.”

“Just say one of us already got our keys and send the other to Coulson’s.” Steve relaxed; roommates without keys, not burglars looking for an easy mark. He pushed the door open.

“You could’ve just knocked.” He said as the girl spun to face him. “I was up and had a light on.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” The man said after a moment. Steve could see the outline of his face through the window. It really was the incredibly tiny but he could see how ‘Nat’ could’ve fit through it. She was thin and on the short side but even in the predawn half-light he could see she looked like one lithe muscle. She didn’t have the arms of a gymnast but he’d bet she was an athlete, maybe a martial artist. Her build was contrasted by her looks. Her bright red hair was pulled back from a delicate face in a messy bun and her clothes were all short summer wear with a pair of worn sneakers. The hair was rather unmistakable. He could recall seeing her around campus last year.

“I’m assuming you’re one of our roommates, not some weirdo who broke in.” She eyed Steve up and down.

“You just crawled through a window the size of a shoebox and you think I’m the B and E suspect?” He joked. “Yeah, I’m Steve, Bruce is asleep upstairs and Tony’s arriving soon. Hopefully. We signed on kinda late, did Coulson email about me and Tony?”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Great, introductions are cool.” Barton said. “I’m Clint, this is Natasha, you’re Steve. Now can one of you let me out of this mosquito haven, please?” Steve stepped out of the doorway and unlocked the back door. Clint vaulted the deck railing and Steve got a full body look at him. He also had the build of an athlete as well but with shoulders and arms that showed it, nicely displayed by his cutoff. Dark blonde hair bristled over a slightly squished looking face that opened in an easy smile when he came face to face with Steve.

“I’d offer to help you guys move in but I’m thinking that can wait until Bruce is awake.” Steve said.

The pair thanked him and crashed on couch cushions in the living room.

Later, after shoving a loveseat which must have been made of lead up the cramped, twisting stairway he regretted his offer. It required all four roommates and an impromptu series of riggings to pull and shove it up the stairs. At one point, Clint slipped and dropped his end at the second landing. Steve forgot about his shoulder and caught it which meant Natasha had to help relocate it while Bruce and Clint were stuck on the second floor. They did eventually manage to pull the loveseat up the rest of the way up, though it involved Natasha crawling through a second story window to pull while Steve braced with one arm from the other side.

“Where did you guys even get this thing?” Bruce flopped down on the cushions once they finally got wedged in the small space between the bathroom and his room.

“Found it in front of a recycling plant in Cleveland.” Barton answered. “Don’t worry, we had it cleaned. It smelled a bit like cheese when we originally picked it up.” Bruce still rolled off with rather too much speed.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard to get it up one flight.” Natasha almost sounded like she was apologizing. “Though I have to ask, how’d you dislocate your shoulder the first time? That’s some nasty scaring.”

Steve readjusted the icepack before answering. “The first time? I got hit by a car when I was thirteen. It’s a long story. The time that actually did this?” He gestured at the shoulder. “Most of the story is still confidential but it boils down to me getting caught in a collapsing tunnel in Afghanistan. I was in the Army for a while before this. That was two years ago but it hasn’t quite healed right.”

“Serious?” Clint perked up. “That sounds like it could either be a great story or a real traumatizing one.”

“Thankfully it lands more on the ‘great’ side of the spectrum. Still, it’s all restricted information.” Steve shrugged. “That means I can make up all the wild stories I like and you can never know if they’re true or not.”

Barton grinned. “Hey, I could tell you some stories like that. So, army to college. What are you majoring in?” There it was. The go-to question for every college student ever.

“Fine arts, preferably. I might have to shift to graphic media to actually find a job but-” He shrugged with one shoulder.

“Really? Huh, that’s better than me.” Barton said. “I’ve got until the end of this semester to actually decide on a major before I run out of gen credits. I’m really just here for the collegiate Olympic training program. It was this or go straight to Chula Vista.”

“What sport?” Bruce asked.

“Archery.”

“Archery?”

“Archery.”

“Sounds like fun.” Steve said.

“It’s tedious but the payoff it nice.” Clint shrugged.

“Oh, don’t start now, Barton.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “He’ll go on for an hour if you let him.” She added the last comment to Bruce and Steve specifically.

“Really?” Steve turned to face Bruce. “Don’t know what that’s like.”

“I was sleep deprived and I’m pretty sure I ate electrophoresis gel before getting our cultures back,” Bruce protested.

“Biology?” Natasha asked.

“Biophysics.” He nodded. “What about you?”

“Performing arts.” She replied. “I’m a dancer.”

“I thought so.” Steve said. “You definitely look like it.”

“What about your friend? Tony?” Clint asked.

“He’s going into mechanical engineering, I’m pretty sure.” Steve answered. “And he’s probably planning on double majoring but…” He left that part hanging. Everyone understood the amorphous major idea. “I should probably warn you now; he’s a bit weird.”

“What sort of weird?” Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“Eccentric genius with a dash of rich party boy.” Steve explained. “We’re really only friends because he got roofied within the first month of last year.” He went on to describe a highly edited version of the story.

With four roommates at least confirmed as not serial killers or complete douchebags, Steve’s sense of impending doom lifted a bit. Of course, his natural tendency to worry picked up the slack when Tony still hadn’t showed up with 36 hours to the start of class. They had spoken the once since Steve confirmed that he’d board with him at the house on Pine Way but aside from that they hadn’t communicated. Twelve hours to go and a discrete black sedan pulled up in front of the house. Tony stepped out with sunglasses and a goatee.

“You know, I was joking about the beard.” Steve said after the poorly disguised body guard had reluctantly left.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony shrugged. “It still works.”

“It looks a bit ridiculous.”

“This house is ridiculous.” Tony gestured at the patchwork of 21st and mid-20th century fixtures.

“Go introduce yourself to your roommates, weirdo.” Steve rolled his eyes.

-

Tony was spreading his mess around the attic when Steve found him the following day. A stereo was already set up in one corner and blaring away. A drafting table Steve would’ve sold his left hand for was sitting next to it and Tony sat in the middle of the room between a stack of materials guides and a box labeled ‘Tony’ in flowing handwriting. He wasn’t moving, just staring at the box.

“Tony?” Steve said quietly. His roommate jerked and focused on him.

“Oh, hey.” His voice fell short of the levity it aimed for. “It’s some stuff Mom…” He trailed off with a hand wave at the box.

“Can I come in?”

“Maybe I like the prairie dog look.” Tony said but fell back on his heels.

Steve crawled the rest of the way up the ladder and sat down a safe distance from Tony and the box.

“I know you didn’t like to talk about- No, Tony, look at me.” Steve kept his voice level, even after Tony rolled his eyes and turned away. “I know you didn’t like to talk about your family even before what happened earlier this month but if you ever do-” He shrugged. “I’m hardly one to model healthily discussing bad experiences but I have resources I can go to if I need them. Sometimes just knowing I have a safety net helps. I also know you don’t like to open up and you’re careful about what you say but I can get you a list of people I trust. I went through the system, I saw other kids with lives a whole lot worse than mine of go through the system. I know people who you could talk to who'd keep quiet if they needed to.”

Tony looked Steve in the eye and for a moment he looked exactly like what he was; a scared, lonely kid who just lost his parents. He opened his mouth to speak then, seemingly not trusting his voice, just nodded. They sat silently for a few minutes. Steve eventually stood and began to sort through the clutter of boxes scattered around the room.

“You know that’s going to be the most organization this room’s going to see, right?” Tony’s voice only seemed a little strained.

“At least you’ll have a starting point.”

Tony started shoving items into the racks of bins he had along the walls. They didn’t speak again for a moment.

“The cops said it was almost instantaneous.”

“Sometimes that’s worse.” Steve said quietly after a beat.

“I know, that ‘almost’ keeps bugging me.”

“Because you don’t know what happened in that almost, and you keep filling in the blanks.”

“Exactly.”

Steve didn’t know how to respond after that. He didn’t know how Tony would respond to his own experiences with death, instantaneous and not so instantaneous.

“You’re adopted, right?”

“My mom passed when I was eight; lung cancer.” Steve assumed that was what Tony was asking. “I never knew my dad and Mom wouldn’t give me a straight answer about him. I know our situations are different and I know that it’s still too fresh for you but eventually the grief does go away, at least mostly.”

“I’m never going to be able to get away from them.” Tony shook his head. “I’m always going to be Howard Stark’s son, the ‘heir to an empire’. They’ll want me to step up, continue the legacy. Obie’s already told me I need to major in business. I always knew that I was going to end up in SI, that Dad was grooming me for R&D at the least but…” He shrugged with hunched shoulders. “There’s a gap to fill and they think I can fill it best.”

“Tony, you’re sixteen. They can’t expect to take over yet.”

“Not until I’m eighteen at the least.” Tony said it like it was a sure thing.

Steve blinked. Since they had purposefully steered clear of this in the past he hadn’t seen how Tony’s entire perspective was altered by his family name. The image of Tony; genius who could change the world with his brains, imagination, and determination clashed with the image of Anthony Stark; a kid who had his entire life shaped by a weight that just landed on his shoulders.

“You’re _sixteen_ ,” He repeated. “If ‘they’ want someone who can do anything well, they’ll let you define yourself before shoving you into your dad’s shoes. For instance, do you prefer Tony or Anthony?”

“Tony.”

“Do ‘they’ know that?”

“No. And stop talking with air quotes.” Tony frowned at him. “‘They’ are Obie and the board members my dad trusted.”

“Obie’s, what, an uncle?” Steve asked.

“Basically, worked with my dad for years. First partnered with him when SI got big. He’s helped me out a lot here. He was the one who worked with the lawyers when they realized how fucked we were by my parents’ will.”

“How so?”

“They wrote in a clause that keeps all of the stock my dad owned, which was most of it, together until _I’m_ the one to parcel them out following me taking more control in SI.” Tony shook his head. “I don’t know what he was thinking. It puts way too much power on me specifically and forces me to take a larger role in the company if SI wants to change at all in the furute. I’m going to have to take business classes and start schmoozing the rest of the board now if I want to be in a good position when I take control. Obie’s said he’ll manage most of the stuff now but he wants me to step up as soon as possible so he can rearrange things with my help. I _hate_ business intrigue.”

“So, seduce a business major and make them do the dirty work.” Steve joked.

“Don’t laugh, that might work. Speaking of crazy plans; Mr. and Mrs. Irons are still alive and well.”

“Do you think that’s a wise idea? A lie works best when it’s mostly truth.”

Tony looked at him like he just spoke in Latin.

“What?”

“Since when are you one to offer pointers on long con frauds?”

“Shut up, Irons, tell me more about your family.” Steve snorted.

“Hard to do if I shut up.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Nah, John and Cindy are fine at home in Palo Alto, running their highly successful but relatively unknown cyber-security business. We had a bit of a falling out over the summer, though. We don’t talk much but I still get the benefits of growing up in a silicone boom family.” Tony delivered the canned story with a grin but it disappeared after a moment. “You should probably also know that we found more about the Jericho scandal this July.”

“Anything you can share?”

“We’re closer to finding who was behind the leaked info."

Steve nodded. Now would be the time to tell Tony he had been involved with the scandal on the ground. Now would be almost perfect.

“Natasha told me you redislocated your shoulder moving her and Clint in.” Tony poked his arm. “What, did you challenge her to fight? She looks like she could take you.”

Now would be a horrible time to explain his connection to the stolen weaponry.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Nah, moving their couch. I did almost stab her with a poker, though. She crawled through the laundry room window the night they arrived.”

“Wait, the one that’s-” He boxed his hands in a rough approximate of the window’s size.

“Yeah, that’s the one. She’s a ballerina.” Steve grinned.

“Now there’s a profession I could never do.”

“Why not? You’re short enough.”

“Oh, ha _ha_. Go fuck yourself, Rogers.”


	3. The South-West Room, Second Floor- A Brief Discussion on Mortality and Other Unlikely Concepts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor shows up eventually, I promise.  
> edit: sorry the next chapter is late. I've had some family requirements that have come up. I'm re-working chp4 and it should be up on the ninth of January followed by more regular updates.

Natasha could see something was off the moment Rogers brought up Irons. It was the subtle change in his body language that gave it away. He was too guarded, too wary of what the rest of the group thought. Her mind produced a variety of scenarios explaining it but when the final roommate actually arrived most of them flew out the window. Rogers mentioned ‘rich party boy’ in his description of Irons which fit his entrance. A valet who no doubt doubled as a body guard with a suspiciously inconspicuous sedan, and a gun mostly concealed on his hip did not seem to be the norm in America. From the window above the loveseat, Natasha saw Irons bound up the front steps and pound the doorbell a few times.

“I’m honor bound to mention your neighborhood, Mr. Rogers.” was the first thing out of his mouth when Rogers opened the door.

“Wow, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that joke.”

“Shut up and appreciate my humor or I’ll buy you a sweater factory for Christmas.”

Irons dropped the backpack he was carrying on the kitchen table and headed back out the door. The guard took off his mirrored glasses and caught Rogers’s eye. He nodded once and Rogers returned it. Natasha remained tucked into the stairwell while the three of them carried boxes from the back of the sedan to the kitchen. It wasn’t eavesdropping, it was getting to know her roommates. Irons chattered seemingly oblivious to the people surrounding him but she noticed after the first trip Rogers always came back with lighter or one handed items and Irons snuck in a few questions about the other housemates. Most telling of all were the bodyguards parting words. She had ducked out of their line of sight when Rogers flipped on the hallway lights but could still hear their words.

“You be careful, Mr. Irons.” He said sternly, overstepping his bounds in her opinion. “I don’t want to have to tell my employers that you got stabbed walking home from class.”

“I’m not going to-”

“And listen to Captain Rogers, he’s smarter than you.”

She was expecting a sharp retort but heard a much softer, “I will, Happy.” Before the tone changed for, “I mean, to an extent. Steve has a boring view on fun.”

“Probably not helping his peace of mind, Tony.” Rogers said. There was a pause before the door closed. She heard the car start and then someone pawing through the junk covering the table.

“You know, I was joking about the beard.” Rogers said.

“Doesn’t matter, it still works.”

“It looks a bit ridiculous.”

“This house is ridiculous.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Go introduce yourself to your roommates, weirdo.” Rogers laughed. That was her cue. She climbed to her feet and walked into the hallway, making sure her footfalls were a little heavier than usual. Irons perked up when he saw her.

“Hey, I’m guessing you’re Natasha? Tony.” He gestured at himself and gave a little wave. Rogers wasn’t kidding about the facial hair. It was elaborate and vain but she got what he meant by it ‘working’. Even with it he looked too young to be here. Maybe he was baby faced, maybe it was something bigger. Rogers had told her that he was 19 without any hint of evasiveness but she didn’t know his tells and a good cover story was hard to mess up.

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled at him. “We’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Oh really?” He narrowed his eyes in Rogers’s direction.

“All good, assuming you ask the right people.” She assured him.

“Well, of course.” He shot her a cocky grin. “Now, Steve tells me the only room left is an attic with a trapdoor-”

“You’re fault for getting here late.”

“-which I _have_ to see for myself right now.” Irons stepped around her and thumped his way up the stairs with a bag over each shoulder.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow over at Rogers.

“Like I said, a little weird.”

Natasha grabbed an apple from the fridge and was heading back for the stairs when Clint stepped out of the hallway.

“Your friend is weird.” He said. “He just popped in, told me his name and asked if I was personally opposed to the idea of guns.”

“I told him you were training for the Olympics.” Rogers explained.

“That doesn’t really explain anything.”

“Not unless you’re Tony.” Rogers was beginning to look apologetic. “He doesn’t usually let people on how he gets from points A to C.”

Natasha took a bite from her apple and studied Rogers’s body language. These two were hiding something and until she had confirmation that it wouldn’t jeopardize her or Clint, she was going to watch them closely.

-

“I’m sure there’s something going on that’s weirder than Irons’s personality.”

“Probably, but that doesn’t mean there’s some major deception going on.” Clint’s voice rumbled in his chest under her ear. “Maybe it’s just a run of the mill secret. Or maybe Tony’s family is paying tuition in exchange for watching their kid. He’s ex-military and you said the bodyguard trusted him.”

“He’s ex-military which means the Army’s paying his tuition,” She curled into closer to his body. “and he has a job. Also, how many bodyguards do you know that get art degrees?”

“Maybe that has to do with it?” Clint sighed. “I mean, he’s _ex-_ military and you know the stereotypes for art majors.”

“Barton, I know for a fact he’s not gay.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not bi. The shoulder scarring clearly isn’t fake but that doesn’t mean that’s the reason he’s out.” Natasha didn’t answer for a moment, remembering the pop of his Roger’s shoulder coming out and the strained look around his eyes. She’d seen plenty of dislocated joints in the past but not from that sort of trauma. The tangle of pale scars and ropey surgical marks stuck in her mind.

Clint yawned. “Let’s save the theories for the morning. I’ve gotta sleep. Gotta be rested for the first day of school, right?” He joked but his tone was sleepy. Within minutes he was out and snoring softly. She’d always envied her boyfriend’s ability to pass out anywhere. She snuggled in closer to his warm, solid mass, and tried to stop replaying the moments between Rogers and Irons.

-

“New theory, Romanoff.” Clint slid into the seat beside her and dropped a tray of food on her text book. “Irons’s actually the prince of a small European monarchy and Rogers’s a mercenary who exchanged protective services for a full-ride.”

“That’s worse than your last theory.” She pulled her book out from under the tray and stole some of Clint’s fries. The dining hall wasn’t the quietest place to study but Clint could eat and she could spread her stuff out across a table without the library’s confined study nooks limiting her space.

“I had to suggest under-cover cops at least once.” Clint shrugged. Once fully awake, he had taken to Natasha’s suspicions with gusto and the last three days had been filled with him sounding out increasingly ridiculous theories.

“What’re you doing?” He poked her text book.

“Getting ahead in stats. But you can see that. Did you speak with your advisor?”

“Yeah, she’s pushing me to just go with physical therapy but that’d mean I’d have to either take summer courses or stay an extra year.” Clint huffed. Neither option would be covered by his scholarships.

“It’d make sense if you were going to work as a coach.”

“But I’m not sure I am and I hate therapy. Besides, I’d rather slowly stab myself to death with a spoon than become a gym coach.”

“Well, you got three months to schedule-”

“Look!” Clint suddenly dropped his fork and pointed across the cafeteria. Rogers and Irons were walking together and talking, Rogers with his head bowed down to hear better.

“Wave them over,” She said.

“Excellent; information gathering.”

“No, they’re our roommates and there aren’t any free tables.”

“I’ll still gather information.” Barton snorted as he waved his hands over his head frantically. The two noticed them and traded a look but still weaved over to their table.

“I almost didn’t see you.” Irons said once they were within earshot.

“We couldn’t have that.” Clint shot back. “You guys got a gap between classes? Tables are a hot commodity around this time.”

“I’ve got one to get to.” Irons shook his head. “But Steve doesn’t. Steve can stay here and socialize. Can’t you, Steve.” Rogers shot him a withering look but dropped his bag and slid into the seat across from Natasha.

“Excellent. I’ll see you when I get back to the house.” Irons turned and walked off, popping a pair of headphones in his ears as he went.

“Do I wanna what that was about?” Clint asked.

Rogers rolled his eyes. “Tony thinks I need more friends who actually go here. Which is ironic considering he knows me and whatever poor classmates are partnered with him.”

“I’m assuming you have friends who don’t go here.” Natasha asked. Clint would have shot her a conspiring look if he wasn’t as subtle as he was.

“Yeah, I have a pretty big family and keep in touch with my army buddies.” He shrugged and unzipped his bag to pull out a packed lunch.

“Yeah? Are many of them still in the forces?” Clint poked. Steve paused before he answered, perhaps mentally going over what he could and couldn’t say but continued. He avoided some details but Clint still got his information.

“That knocks out a few theories.” He said as they walked back from campus together.

“Such as the ones involving your fascination with Army Special Forces.” Natasha replied.

“Only if he’s not entirely lying.”

She rolled her eyes. Rogers had given them a brief description of his stint in the army. He enlisted right after high school with his brother to pay for college. He did two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, complete with some interesting stories. He didn’t add any more on what happened to screw up his shoulder but did say that most of his unit were still overseas.

“Besides, he obviously was tied up with something.” Clint continued “Even if it has nothing to do with Tony, he’s too tight lipped about his shoulder. He didn’t mention it once.”

“I agree but I don’t want to pry too much.” She cautioned. “Perhaps it’s something relatively normal or entirely benign. Maybe he just doesn’t want to share. He was in an active warzone.” Their own unwillingness to share certain facts wasn’t mentioned.

Clint nodded. “I know, but let me sound at least a few more ideas out. For fun if nothing else.”

They continued to walk.

“Did you hear that drama in the physics lab?”

“About the drug dealer?”

“Yeah, Banner’s totally involved. I have concrete evidence.”

“Great, we can get your gossip fix dealt with that way.”

-

Banner was more than willing to give a full description of what exactly went down with the physics drug lab. Clint and him spent an hour first ranting and eventually laughing about idiots and drugs. Clint even shared his ‘The Reason Why I’ll Never Deliberately Take Hallucinogens’ story. Rogers got back half way through and listened with good humor. Natasha kept an eye on Rogers but was ready to accept that Irons and him were going to keep their secret. Three days was long enough to determine it wasn’t keeping them on edge. The bodyguard had left without a hint of other security. Clint and her seemed to be safe.

Banner eventually calmed down enough to realize he was late for his evening lab TA job and Rogers offered to drive him there. The rest of the evening went smoothly. Clint made his legendary ziti, Irons showed up with a box of aluminum scraps, and Natasha completed the beginning of her first essay in the dining room before she headed to bed.

Natasha had chosen the bedroom in the southwest corner of the second floor. Banner was already in the room facing the street and Rogers took the lone downstairs room. Both rooms had better emergency exits but in a pinch she could crawl down the gutter from one of the windows. Not that she would face such a pinch but she hadn’t gotten where she was without a healthy level of paranoia. Also, this room was further from the bathroom piping, which was nice. What she didn’t know what she selected the room was the house’s air vents lead from the now defunct fireplace to her room almost directly, meaning any conversation held in front of the hearth reached her pillow space. This was entirely accidental.

 Natasha didn’t actively spy on her roommates but she wasn’t going to ignore information that fell in her lap. She was almost asleep when Banner got back to the house. The opening and closing of the door got her attention.

“You’re kind of doing a dad thing, Steve.” She heard Banner say.

“Should I ask about what sort of meth lab you crawled out of, young man?” Rogers answered with a mock-serious tone.

“Party hallucinogens, not meth. We found more in the optics lab that the police missed.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Banner snorted. “At least it’s almost the weekend. If I get through tomorrow, I’ll be able to ignore the mess until Monday.”

Rogers laughed and the two said their goodnights. She rolled over once Banner’s door closed and squinted at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Rogers had been in his room when she headed up but he was out in the living room now. Just like the night they arrived. This morning he had been asleep in an armchair when she headed down for breakfast.

She didn’t actively spy on her roommates, honest.

Natasha sighed and punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape. Another door opened, the hatchway to the attic. She heard surprisingly soft footsteps walk past her door then,

“Can’t sleep?”

“Just needed to clear my head for a moment. I could ask you the same thing.” Rogers’s voice took on a tone she hadn’t heard before, almost scared. She cocked her head a bit closer to the vent.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“You will be.”

“You seem sure.”

“I am.”

Neither said anything for a moment.

“Tony-”

“Can I ask you a morbid question?”

She didn’t hear a response but assumed Rogers nodded.

“What is it like to think you’re going to die?”

The silence that followed was dreadful, almost as the sickening as the feeling that she was invading something intensely private.

“Terrifying. Knowing, or at least thinking that you know you’re going to die is terrifying. That changes depending on the situation but even if you have time to accept it and know there’s nothing that you can do- I don’t think that anyone can truly stamp down that instinct to fear death. When my mom passed we knew for months that it was going to happen so she had time to get her head in order, get me taken care of best she could but still she was afraid. Knowing that Mom died scared for me and scared of what was going to happen has stuck with me. And she was a religious person, she stuck to the rules, made us go to church every Sunday but faith doesn’t make up for instinct. Knowing what’s on the other side can’t make up for that.

“I don’t know exactly what happened to your parents and I’m not going to make you tell me but, depending on how quick that ‘almost’ was, they could have missed out on that. Adrenaline gives you a weird sort of denial. You are aware of everything intensely but not of any of the consequence aside from what will keep you alive. There’s the chance that they didn’t get that fear.”

“Is the fear worse than the pain?”

“If you live, yeah.” Rogers laughed humorlessly. “Because then you have all those memories of your emotions and the acceptance of your mortality doesn’t fade. Pain blurs in memory.”

Natasha laid in the darkness and rolled Rogers’s words over in her head. They held true, in her experience. The part of her that didn’t care about manners tallied what she had learned. Irons’s parents were dead, had died in a traumatic but quick fashion. Rogers’s (probably single) mother had died when he was young and he had since faced life-threatening situations enough to answer that question. That she already knew. That Irons trusted Rogers and knew that he had that experience was new.

“Steve?” Iron’s was crying, he tried to hide it but he his voice cracked.

“Yeah?”

“The Jericho fiasco wasn’t the end of Stark Industries secrets.” Tony paused, perhaps catching his breath. “And those secrets effect you, now. No evidence has come back showing anything but an accident but there’s a possibility that someone within Stark Industries had them assassinated. No- there’s more. Someone within SI was selling our weaponry to insurgents in Afghanistan. Dad found it almost by accident and tried to stop the damage with Obie and Rhodes, the army liaison. They patched up the leak but Rhodey suspected that there was more, that they didn’t get all of them. That’s where the death threats came from last year.”

“And you think that maybe they killed your father, made it look like an accident, in order to get him out of the way. Are you in danger? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Dad, Obie and Rhodey were the only targets. They kept it small to keep it within themselves. Rhodey didn’t even tell the army everything. I don’t know how much he told them but he used every trick he knew to keep it off the records. Mom didn’t know, for sure. No one else on the board knew. I knew because they only discussed it at the house and I wired the place when I was twelve.”

“Who knows that you knew about the sales?” Rogers’s voice sounded distant.

“Rhodey knows. I told him when I realized how big it was and that maybe I shouldn’t have the place wired.” He let out a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “It seems so stupid now. I should’ve told Dad but I knew I was going to get in trouble and Obie was in LA.”

“Alright.” Rogers let out a sigh. “ _Al_ -right. You’re cover holds. You’re not in any immediate danger. You’re grieving but that’s healthy. Stark Industries will right itself without a sixteen year old worrying himself. It’s alright. Not good. But we can work with alright.”

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would.”

“Hey, only thing to do when the world goes to shit is keep wading through. Maybe hope you don’t end up swimming.”

“But the weapon deals…Steve, SI built weapons that killed American soldiers. People are dead because of the company.”

“It’s a weapons manufacturer.”

“American soldiers, though.”

“And a sickening number of Afghani children.”

“But-”

“Tony. I knew.”

The pause was horrible. “You _what?_ ” Irons bit out.

“I knew. I was part of a squadron that investigated one of the potential leaks. No one knew the full scale. I didn’t know it went so deep until now but I knew that Stark weaponry was being sold to both sides.” Rogers was _apologetic_. “It’s messier on the ground than anyone stateside can imagine. There’s weapons that shouldn’t be where they are on both sides. The only reason I found out it was something different was that they sent in MI-6 SIS agents. Rhodes definitely went out of his way to keep it off the American radar.”

“Why are you excusing-”

“I’m not excusing anything!” Rogers almost shouted. He paused and dropped back to a whisper. “At the risk of being cliché; war is hell. You get half-assed explanations that don’t begin to justify what you’ve seen and you have to accept that, or at least accept that you can’t accept it. I knew, I knew that something stunk with Stark Industries and when you told me about the Jericho getting cancelled I began to see just how big it was. I accepted that I can’t accept the violence in this world and had to keep my mind here. You have to live your life or you’ll lose it.”

The silence afterwards left them all reeling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At first? I said it wasn’t something I would share. It was all confidential anyways, even if you knew more than anyone I worked with did. Then it just seemed like it would be weird to bring up.”

“Weird?”

“Can you imagine fitting that into a conversation?” Roger’s joke fell flat. “And then, after you called me earlier this month… I didn’t seem to be important, relatively.”

“Relatively.” Irons, though she was sure that wasn’t his name, repeatedly duly.

“Relative to my friend losing his entire family in a car crash, yes. It’s over, for me at least. Right? I’m out, I’m done. All I’ll ever have to do with that leak ever again is getting you what help you need. Because I will. You need anyone to talk with who is you’re friend before the company’s; I’m here. You don’t even have to worry about confidentiality.”

“People died because of that leak.”

“People were dying already, people are dying now, and people will die in the future. It’s not okay but it can be alright. And, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Getting to be alright isn’t fast or easy, no matter the circumstances.”

“I know. Thanks”

She didn’t hear them say anything more. Drifting off took longer than it should have as she turned this new information over in her head. The following morning, when she padded downstairs to make her tea and eat her cereal, the two of them were asleep in the living room. Rogers was stretched out on the couch with a sketch pad even with his hip on the floor. He was wearing a ridiculously large Stanley University Arts sweatshirt with the sleeves bunched around his elbows. The contrast between the experiences he alluded to last night and the pale art student in his too big sweatshirt asleep on a battered couch was striking.

Tony sat curled in the armchair nearest Rogers’s head. A blanket had been tucked around his shoulders prior to being kicked off, leaving it draped over one arm and onto the floor. In the grey pre-dawn light, he looked younger than sixteen, regardless of the beard.

Natasha didn’t say anything when Rogers jerked awake with a snort, just cocked an eyebrow when he noticed her at the table. Natasha didn’t say anything when Clint added more theories to his list at lunch. Natasha did, however, say something to Rogers after dinner when Clint retreated upstairs, Bruce headed off for an evening lab, and a thumping bassline rumbled down from Tony’s attic.

“This house is old.” She opened casually.

“Yeah,” Rogers agreed and handed her another dish to dry. “I grew up in a house that had parts older than this but I’m glad Coulson did serious renovations before we moved in.”

“The fireplace is interesting. It has a vent right up to my room.”

He paused his dish scrubbing to look her face on.

“I end up with all the conversation in the living room also being held in my room.”

“We should put something in that vent.” He didn’t change his tone though his face dropped into a mask. “It’d be an easy fix and probably will stop cold air from blowing in, too.”

She nodded, tucked the final plate away, and turned square to him.

“I don’t know the full extent of what’s going on, though I suspect what I do know is more than I should. What I do know is that I’d prefer that any activities endangering me or Clint be stopped or distanced from us. I’d also like to know what exactly is endangering us.” Let him think what he will. She would protect Barton, she owed him that.

Rogers nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the sink.

“I understand. I believe Tony when he says that he’s safe, though now I worry if more people know that ‘Irons’ isn’t his real last name. Have you told Barton?”

“No,”

“How much did you hear last night?”

“All of it, as far as I can tell. Tony is Howard Stark’s son, correct.” He nodded. “And he believes Mr. Stark may have been assassinated.”

“May have.” Rogers was quick to emphasize. “And whatever background risk comes from being the son of a billionaire ‘merchant of death’ should be negated by this alias. I trust Stark’s security. I trust that while Anthony Stark will undoubtedly face his share of threats, Tony Irons is no danger to his roommates. Aside from his lack of impulse control.” He kept his eyes even and leveled at her.

She analyzed his words and actions before speaking again.

“Are you part of his security?”

“No. I really do just know this because he got roofied and guilt-puked his secret identity and a bit of Stark Industries scandal onto my lap.”

“So why are you protecting him?”

His face creased.

“I don’t-”

“You could’ve forgotten about this asshole and his baggage and his intrigue. Why are you causing more trouble for yourself? Are you getting paid my Stark Industries? Someone else? Looking to make him your golden ticket?”

Rogers face went from confused to downright insulted. “I look out for Tony because last year he was a scared 15 year old who thought he might be the target of a potential hostage situation. He was a lonely kid who needed someone to look out for him. More than that, he became my friend. And, if you really want to know, I _didn’t_ plan on rooming with him this year. He called me drunk and grieving because his parents had just died and asked for help. I’m not getting paid and I would never try to turn his background to my advantage.”

The silence between them stretched. For his entire speech, Rogers didn’t raise his voice above a careful level but, for all his effort, she could see she hit a nerve. Most likely a nerve she didn’t want to find again.

“Why do you care about Barton?” He snapped after a breath. From his face she could tell he immediately regretted it.

“I looked out for Clint first because I owed him. We look out for each other, now.”

Rogers nodded like he understood what she was saying.

“Alright, I get that.”

She almost curled her lip. Like he could ever. Clint and her had a complicated past to say the least.

Something must’ve slipped his control because he let out a little laugh, “No, really, I do. I grew up in a foster house. I saw a lot of kids get the short end of the stick. I’ve heard that line more than you would think. I get it, if not all the context. Feel like striking a deal?” She blinked once, carefully, in a manner she had perfected. “You keep this new information to yourself and respect Tony’s alias, I keep an eye on Barton and make doubly sure nothing from Anthony Stark gets into his life.”

“Do you collect people as pet projects?”

“Nah, just got tired of seeing no one stick up for the people who need it.” He grinned and she returned it.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll keep my silence and throw Clint off your scent.” She answered. “He’s been cooking up wild theories after seeing Anthony’s bodyguard. I help you keep Tony out of the Stark debacle, you keep an eye on Clint. A warning; he needs more protection from himself than others. He has the impulse control of a gnat.”

She got a laugh out of him for that.

“Sounds good, Miss Romanoff.”

“Please, call me Natasha.” She offered him her hand. “Does this second impression better introduce me?”

“I think so.” Steve shook her hand, his grip was warm, firm, and callused.

“One last thing, your shoulder, does that have to do with the leak?”

The humor in his face chilled a degree. “Yes. Very much so. I have a rather up-close view of SI’s weaponry. I’d prefer that Tony not know that.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” She nodded, pivoted and walked upstairs.

Clint was splayed on his bed with a book in Spanish. She sprawled down next to him and he wordlessly lifted an arm to let her slide in under it.  She wondered how long it would take Steve to catch on his newest motivation to keep Clint safe.


	4. Chapter 4 -Thankfully Not a Cot in the Bio Department’s Supply Closet- Or: Thor: God of Thunder, Devourer of Pizza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very late. Far later than 'it was a tricky chapter' can excuse.

Chapter 4 -Thankfully Not a Cot in the Bio Department’s Supply Closet- Or: Thor: God of Thunder, Devourer of Pizza

Not that sleeping under a computer array for a month set high standards, but Bruce was a bit nervous about his roommates. Perhaps it was the lingering regret from his break-up with Betty but his usual anxiety-induced apprehension towards meeting new people kept building from the moment Coulson mentioned that he had other renters lined up. Of course, following 56 straight hours at the lab, roommates were the last thing he had on his mind. He didn’t make the connection between the email Coulson sent him, the extra set of shoes by the doorway, and container of fresh spaghetti sauce in the fridge. Still, screaming and dropping a carton of orange juice on his foot was a bit of an extreme reaction to realizing there was another person in the house.

The newcomer stepped forward with raised hands, apologizing. “Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Bruce’s sleep deprived mind tried to come up with a reason for a burglar to apologize for breaking in. And putting left-overs in the fridge. That was especially weird. Unless he wasn’t a burglar.

“I’m Steve. I don’t know if Coulson got in touch with you but I’m one of the new renters.”

“New renters?” Bruce heard himself repeat.

“Yeah, it was kinda a last minute things.” Steve rubbed the back of his head, looking deceptively small. He was on the lanky side but that didn’t matter much as he must have been at least six foot. He had the look of someone who, for whatever reason, hadn’t grown at a constant rate. Bruce had seen it before in high school. In particular, one of his classmates who had shifted from crappy relative to foster home, to shit relative until his dad got his act together. He had grown like he had just been waiting for a chance to get proper nutrition. He wondered how growth spurt hormone regulation was changed by environmental factors. What sort of adaptations would show up in the epigenetic code. He’d have to make a note to scan the stacks for- Wait.

He forced his fuzzy head back on track.

“Oh,” He said. Steve wasn’t looking at him like he was crazy he so he continued. “Okay. I’m Bruce. Sorry I haven’t met you yet. I’ve been living out of the physics lab. One of the TAs was synthesizing niche hallucinogenics in the radiation lab. We got raided and all the lab samples were seized.” He winced internally. Rambling about drugs, that was sure to make a good first impression.

“You had samples to be seized in a radiation lab?” Steve asked. He wasn’t backing away or looking for an out. So far so could-be-worse.

“I’ve been working with some bio-majors to see if we can change genetic information using radiation.” His hold on the flood of enthusiasm held, even if it hurt to deliver such a simplified version of his work. “It can kind of look like a drug lab to a quota filling cop.”

“Sounds like fun.” Steve laughed sympathetically.

“Not when three years of lab research are confiscated because someone was trying to make the next LSD.” Bruce snorted. “I’ve been sleeping in the lab,” (no need to mention how long or why) “while trying to get our samples back. You said ‘new renters’ plural?” The orange juice was still sitting next to his foot. He put it on the counter.

“Yeah, my roommate from last year and I. Have you met the other two yet?” Steve took a seat on one of the dining table chairs.

“I got an email from one of them asking if I was allergic to anything but aside from that all I know is what the landlord told me. I’ve been living here the last month and haven’t gotten more than an email from them.” Steve nodded and asked him more about his struggle with law enforcement. Maybe it was how he seemed genuinely friendly or maybe it was just the lack of sleep and caffeine lowering his inhibitions but Bruce wasn’t able to do much aside from give a sanitized version of his break-up before he took Steve’s curiosity as an excuse to unload the last nine years of research.

The technical stuff flew over Steve’s head (Bruce was used to that) but he asked about Bruce’s ideas for application and kept up in some strange places. Strange until he alluded to cancer being in the family. Losing a family member to genetics gone wrong could make someone very interested in mutation. Bruce was surprised by how easily the conversation flowed from degree talk (he would never have pegged Steve as an art major) to music and movies before Bruce realized he was shivering far too hard for August and excused himself to sleep in a bed for the first time in three days.  
-  
Clint and Natasha showed up after Bruce’s brain regained the ability wrap itself around the concept of time. His circadian rhythm wasn’t quite as quick recover. He woke up before noon, the last Wednesday before classes officially started again and found a couch where the dining table had been the night before.

“You must be Bruce.”

He turned to see a pair of students sitting on the table where it had been shoved up against the loveseat that came with the house.

“Natasha and Clinton?”

“Just Clint, but yeah. Bruce? Steve said you were living out part of ‘Breaking Bad’ this week.”

“Not a chemistry major.” Bruce replied. “Though there was a small drug farm in my lab this summer. But more importantly; why is there a couch in the dining room?”

“There’s a space upstairs where it would fit, since you’ve already brought one couch we're moving it up there.” He explained. “Steve’s grabbing some gloves from his car to help us move it.”

Perfectly timed, the front door slammed as Steve reentered the house with a pair of worn work gloves in one hand.

“Probably not necessary but they’ll make a difference.” He shrugged.

They did. Steve was able to dislocate his shoulder much easier with improved grip when Bruce and Clint dropped their side of the couch. As bad as Bruce felt about dropping furniture on his roommate, he couldn’t help but notice the tell-tale scar of an old port on the left side of Steve’s chest. ‘Cancer in the family’ must have been a bit of an understatement.

Dislocated limbs aside; his introduction to the people he’d be living with for the next year when very smoothly. Clint and Natasha seemed nice; private; and quiet, and Steve brought his military level of cleanliness to the kitchen as a compulsion to do dishes, not harangue anyone who left a plate in the sink, a definite plus. By the time Tony arrived at the house, Bruce was positively optimistic about his roommates. But Tony did arrive and he arrived with a chauffeur. Bruce wasn’t so far removed from his upbringing that anyone with that sort of money didn’t automatically earn a bad mark in his books.

In retrospect, simply judging Tony by his money was too hasty. Bruce should’ve judged him by the entire set of negative stereotypes he played into. Steve had even admitted he had befriended Tony after the kid had drunk himself sick. He showed up at the last possible moment wearing slacks and a blazer like some miniaturized stock broker. Even with his (utterly ridiculous) facial hair, there was no way he was nineteen yet he was a sophomore. Once Bruce decided Tony was the sort of entitled asshole produced by rich private schools, other little details began to add up.

He took far too long in the shower, left his toothpaste on the bathroom counter, and bought obnoxious over-priced coffee drinks every day. By Wednesday, Bruce was irritated down to how Tony sprawled over the couch in the living room (technically, still his couch, too). Natasha and Clint seemed wary of him, as well, which only confirmed his instincts. The final piece of evidence that formed his initial impression of Tony came when Bruce returned to his desk in the faculty offices after his final lab on Thursday and found his least favorite roommate spinning around in his chair. Tony jumped to his feet as soon as he saw Bruce.

“Hey, thought I’d have to wait until night-janitors showed up.” The younger student grinned.

“I was in a lab.” Bruce half-heartedly explained. He dropped his bag on the desk and began to load up more un-graded manuals.

“Physics or biology? I mean, I wouldn’t think a whole lot of business majors look for their general science credits in a bio-physics course.”

“Physics.”

“Cool.”

Bruce noted that several of his desk-top items had been moved slightly. The silence between them stretched. Maybe if he just didn’t answer, Tony would get the idea that he didn’t  
want to talk.

“What happened to that?” Tony gestured towards the broken electrophoresis machine on his desk.

“Cop knocked it off a table. It pulled out the cord and banged it up a bit.”

“I could fix it for you.”

“It really wouldn’t be worth the hassle.” Bruce protested.

“It wouldn’t be that complex and it’s not a hassle. I’m an engineering student, it’ll be fun.” Tony was already turning the machine over in his hands with an expression Bruce was used to seeing on classmates bent over lasers or petri dishes of glowering bacteria.

“I guess? If you really want it.” He shrugged.

“Great, I’ll get this back to you in no time.” Tony stuck the machine under his arm and strode out of the room like Bruce was going to take it from him.

“Good talk, Tony.” Bruce muttered under his breath. He stayed in the department offices to grade the labs until the night janitor actually did show up. He waved to the familiar face buffing the floor and started the walk back to the house grateful that he’d ended up in semi-rural upstate New York rather than Philadelphia for once. Say what he would about how isolated Marvel was, at least he could walk home after midnight and not get mugged. He stewed as he walked and came to a conclusion on Tony. He was a rich asshole who was an obnoxious exception to an otherwise excellent housing arrangement but Bruce could deal with him. He was on a first name basis with the night janitor and had dealt with the biology department’s tarantulas escaping at three in the morning this summer. He could deal with a lot of things.

Friday morning, while juggling his coffee, book bags, and shoes, he noticed an electrophoresis machine sitting on the dining table.

“Clint, do you know why this is here?”

“No, it was here when Nat got up, though.” Barton answered. “I already asked. I figured it was yours.”

“Uh, sort of.”

He tucked the machine into his messenger bag and started walking.

“So, does it meet your requirements?” Tony was sitting in his chair again.

“I’ve had it for all of half an hour.”

“Cursory impression, then.”

“It looks fine.” Bruce set the machine on his desk, back where it had been before Tony took it.

It did look fine. The cord and casing were replaced with a different type but it was all done neatly.

“When did you do this?” Bruce asked. It had been fewer than twelve hours since he’d handed the device to Tony and now it was back at his desk.

“Yesterday evening. The tech hall clears out by then so I was able to find what I needed.” He explained. “I paid for it, mind you but I was able to work quicker without people asking me if I should be there. There was damage to the chips, too. It wasn’t that complex and I was able to transfer the coding but I wouldn’t use it to CSI anything until you tried it out a few times. And the wiring. I redid the wiring. And exterior. I think that’s it.”

“Not quite what we use these things for here.”

“CSI or whatever else you can use an electrophoresis machine for, then.”

“Are you trying to impress me?”

“What?”

“You are!” Bruce grinned. Tony had been fidgeting ever so slightly through his rambling explanation, like he was expecting an evaluation. “If you were just messing around with this you wouldn’t have turned it around so fast. And you wouldn’t have checked up to see it if ‘met my requirements’. Are you trying to make a good second impression or are you just that bad a making friends?”  
Bruce said it as a joke but it sounded wrong the moment it came out his mouth. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Thanks.” Bruce finished lamely.

Tony spun the chair around one more time and stood.

“Tell me if it doesn’t work.” He made to leave.

“I’ve a class in ten minutes but there’s a free hour later today. Want to get a full tour of the bio lab?” Bruce asked before he could go.

Tony stopped and smiled genuinely.

“Yeah, how’s three o’clock?”

“Sounds good. I’ll be here.”

-

Tony lit up in the lab. He asked questions that actually made Bruce think about his field and spent the hour in the lab with a grin on his face and a glint in his eyes. Bruce very nearly missed the start of a lecture because he was caught up with discussing electron microscopes with his roommate. They agreed to meet again Monday and pick up where they left off.

Tuesday was the same, as was Wednesday.

And Thursday.

Bruce eventually made his hour with Tony in the lab part of his schedule. He admitted to himself that he had been wrong about Tony. The engineer was arrogant and outgoing but he was smart and inquisitive. What Bruce had missed in his first impression was Tony’s back-handed need to help people.

The busted electrophoresis machine was just the start. He rescued Parker when his laptop crashed an hour before his grant application was due. He was working his way through an entire supply closet full of slightly busted or completely busted assets, either fixing or recycling them for parts. He even participated in the Great 2010 Rat Rodeo when the a male chewed his way into a neighboring female-only cage and then back out of the cages entirely. It didn’t take long for his to become the biology hall’s pet engineer. Three o’clock was time specifically designated for bothering Bruce but he could be found wandering the halls at strange times, finnicking with equipment, annoying professors, or sitting in the back of lectures with a laptop, frantically typing away.

“Doesn’t the engineering department have its own hall?” Bruce asked him in the middle of September.

“Yep.” Tony continued transferring the vials of fly eggs to their designated terrariums.

“So why don’t you spend time there?”

“I do. I just spend a lot of time here as well. Besides, we share the building with physics majors.”

“I have a major in physics, Tony.”

“There’s a difference between being a physics major and having a physics major, Brucey.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hurry up and finish with the eggs.” Tony snorted. “Then I’ll give you a full tour of ‘my’ hall and you’ll see.”

-

The final roommate to join the household arrived because of one of their near-daily meetings. Half way through a discussion on nuclear decay, one of the doctoral students walked into the lab to check her simulations with a 20 pound bag of puppy chow.

“Jane?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, I’ll clean up the whiteboards tonight, though we wouldn’t be sharing space with you if you’re department hadn’t triggered campus-wide drug hunt.”

“Not what I was going to ask.”

“Why do you have dog food?” Tony supplied.

“That? Frigga had puppies and I haven’t found homes for all of them yet.” She dropped the bag to log onto the lab computer. “On an unrelated note, you guys know anyone who wants a dog? I’ve got two left.”

“Sorry, no. Hope you find them good homes.” Bruce replied and turned back to the diagram he had sketched.

“You have a good home, right?” Jane said, desperation edging into her voice. “Really, they’re getting too big for our apartment. Darcy and I are just about puppied out which I didn’t think was possible. Frig’s definitely puppied out and they’re her puppies.” Her phone started playing the theme from Twilight Zone. She frowned. “Sorry, I got to take this. Consider the puppy offer.” She walked out the door to answer.

Tony seemed a bit distracted from their conversation for a moment but picked it up again. Really, Bruce shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when Tony broached the subject the following evening. Following a near heavenly ziti from Clint the first week, an unofficial dinner schedule had started up. Monday’s were Clint’s night, Bruce and Natasha had both taken Tuesdays and Wednesdays, Steve cooked on Thursdays, and Tony usually ordered an obscene amount of take out on Fridays.

While loosely assembled around a fleet of Chinese take-out boxes, on the dining room table Tony casually asked, “So, how do you feel about dogs?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I worked with a bomb sniffer team in Afghanistan, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Really? No, just, you know, dogs in general.” Steve’s shoulders relaxed a bit.

“I’ve worked with trained dogs in the past, too.” Clint added. “Frankly, I think dogs in general are better people than people.”

“Dogs have no concept of evil and no concept of guilt.” Natasha said. “They can’t be good people.”

“Have you ever met a dog, Romanoff?” Clint shot back.

“Tony, Jane will find homes for her puppies.” Bruce ignored their sniping.

Steve sat up. “Oh, so someone’s trying to get you to take a dog. That makes sense. Also, it’s never going to happen. You give in once and suddenly you have two parrots, a rabbit, and a herd of assorted reptiles.”

“Is that from personal experience, Rogers?” Tony snidely asked.

“Yeah, my foster mother collects strays, some of which, including me, have dander allergies.” Steve said sternly. “Besides, we’re renting. I’d bet Coulson doesn’t allow pets.”

“He has a cat.” Clint interjected.

“Who belonged to this house’s previous owner.” Steve corrected. “Believe me, I know. There’s still cat hair tucked into weird nooks.” That explained why he sounded like he had a head cold for the first week.

“Is it the black longhair?” Natasha asked. “I’ve seen that one around here. I didn’t know he used to live here.”

“But you just said you worked with a sniffer dog.” Tony protested. “And I already talked to Coulson. He said he doesn’t have a set policy.”

“Tony,”

“Steve.” The two of them locked eyes for a moment.

“I fully support dogs.” Clint said quietly when the pause got awkward.

“I don’t object, either.” Natasha added. “As long as it’s Tony’s responsibility.”

Tony broke his eye contact with Steve long to give Bruce a hopeful look. Clint mimicked the expression.

“Well, Jane did ask for our help.” Bruce finally said.

Steve at least recognized he’d lost the battle. “What kind of dog even is it?”

-

Jane drove over late Saturday morning with an extremely put upon golden retriever, an excitable puppy, and a roommate who, despite Jane’s earlier statements, looked like someone was taking her first born. Jane handed the papers detailing vet records to Steve.

“Selvig agreed to take his sister yesterday.” She explained. “So it’s just this guy left.” A ball of yellow fluff got dumped into Steve’s arms.

“He’s seven months old and tentatively named ‘Thor’.” Darcy added without taking her eyes off the wriggling mass of fur.

“Thor?” Steve asked. He placed the dog on the ground and he bolted across the yard.

“Just wait until there’s a thunderstorm. He goes a bit crazy.” Jane said.

Thor sniffed one of the overgrown rose bushes thoroughly before peeing on it. Tony and Clint grinned as if it was the cutest thing they’d ever seen. Natasha rolled her eyes. Thor galloped over to where his mother was calmly sitting next to Jane.

“He seems a bit short.” Bruce said.

“We’re thinking Frigga made a lot of friends at the doggie day care.” Jane explained delicately. “He’s got something with short legs in him. None of his sibling showed any signs of it. Also, don’t trust weirdos who are trying to give away puppies and tell you they’ve already got all the ‘shots and shit’ taken care of.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, only partly because he was mentally charting the Punnett squares.

“We’re weirdos who are trying to give away puppies without any pretense of taking care of everything.” Darcy said. “He has some of his shots but not all and we didn’t snip anything.” She crouched and petted Thor as Frigga let him lick her face. The puppy suddenly perked up, staring at something across the yard. He broke into high pitched barks and charged across the grass. A black streak shot out from under the bushes and bolted across the street. Tony took off after them and scooped up the puppy before he got too far into the road. The cat ran around the side of Coulson’s house and out of sight. As Tony carried Thor back to the yard, Coulson opened the door. Tony was distracted by Thor licking his face and neck but Steve watched their landlord uneasily.

“You have a dog.” He said evenly when he reached the gathered students. “A puppy, even.”

“Yes,” Tony replied. “You want to hold him?”

Coulson’s face didn’t move an inch. He crossed his arms over his immaculate suit and continued to eye Tony.  
“He’s already house trained.” Jane helpfully supplied.

Steve shot her a grateful look. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll keep the puppy-related damage to a minimum.”

“I hope he learns to not mess with Loki.”

“Your cat is named Loki?” Jane laughed. “What a coincidence.” Coulson twitched an eyebrow and walked back across the street.

“Landlord?” Darcy whispered as Coulson’s upright figure disappeared into his house.

“Yeah,” Steve answered.

“He’s weird. What’s with the suit?”

“Evidently he works on campus.” Bruce said.

“I’ve never seen him.” Jane frowned.

“No one has.” Steve shrugged. They watched as Thor waddled over to Tony and Clint with a stick in his mouth.

It wasn’t until the following morning when Bruce stepped in Thor’s water bowl in the kitchen that the full enormity of a dog hit him. Surprisingly enough, though, Thor fit in well. Tony, for all he swore Thor would be his responsibility, got more than a bit of help from his roommates. Someone was almost always home due to their schedules and who actually doesn’t like a puppy? Steve and Clint fell back on their experiences of dogs-with-jobs to help train him. Natasha, as the first one awake most days, fed him in the mornings. And, for some unknown reason, Thor took to Bruce like he was the greatest thing ever. Of course, he loved everyone with the passion that only a dog can contain but Bruce was a special case. Tony pretended to be insulted but not too much.

  
“There’s a great irony here.” He said one day when they were both on the couch, Thor trying to wiggle into Bruce’s lap. “The man who uses test animals is this mutt’s favorite.”

  
“I work with bacteria and fruit flies, Tony.” Bruce corrected him. He gave in and unfolded his arms. Thor instantly pounced on his stomach and spread across Bruce’s chest, trying to maximize body contact.

Tony snorted. “You’ll be cleaning hair off you for months.” Which was only a small exaggeration. Thor had his mother’s long, golden hair which shed absolutely everywhere. The routine vacuuming necessitated by Thor’s fur was one of the responsibilities taken solely by Tony.

Thor, as a general descriptor, took after his mother. He had a long, feathered tail which waved frantically whenever anyone approached the door. His head and ears had the slight droopiness of a retriever and his bark, though still puppyish, was maturing into a big dog’s woof. The one trait that marked him as a true mutt was his frankly hilarious corgi-ish legs. Not that Thor seemed to know. He could run without an issue, though climbing stairs, especially the steep ones to Tony’s room was amusing to watch. Aside from being easy to trip over, his legs only really kept him from one thing; jumping.

It was mid-October when Clint discovered this.

The archer sprinted past Bruce’s door and pounded on the closed trap door leading to Tony’s attic.

“Irons get your butt out here I gotta show you what your stupid dog’s doing.” He shouted.

Bruce dropped his pen onto the never ending stack of to-be-graded labs and resigned himself to not getting anything more done until Thor’s newest trick was fully explored.

“What?” Tony demanded.

“Come down here and see.” Clint ducked back into his room. Tony and Bruce followed and joined him at the window.

The late afternoon sunset (which was coming earlier and earlier) had turned the entire backyard into a palette of reds and golds. The giant sugar maple helped. The ancient tree took up a sizable portion of the yard and its fallen leaves had covered the sparse grass in a layer several inches thick. Thor, of course, thought this was the best thing since chew toys. At the moment, he stood on his hind legs, supporting himself against the gnarled tree trunk barking wildly up into the branches.

“What’s he-” Bruce started.

“Just wait!” Clint answered.

Thor dropped back onto all fours and paced around the base of the trunk. After a pause he stopped barking, braced himself and leapt upwards. Clint burst out laughing. Bruce had to grin.  
“Don’t you laugh at my dog, Barton!” Tony responded with mock anger. “It’s not his fault his legs aren’t made for jumping.”

“I’m sorry it’s just; I’ve seen trained dogs clear ten feet and he barely gets inches."

  
Thor made another attempt to jump into the tree and only succeeded at losing his balance and disappearing into the blanket of leaves around him.

“What’s he barking at?” Bruce asked once Thor surfaced with a shake of his head and resumed his stressed woofs.

Clint shrugged. “I didn’t check to see.”

Reassembled outside under the maple the three roommates got a clearer idea of what had Thor’s tail in a twist.

“Is that Coulson’s cat?”

“Looks like it.”

“Huh.”

“I could climb it, easy enough.”

“And then what?”

Bruce listened to Tony and Clint’s exchange with a still agitated Thor in his arms. He wasn’t barking anymore but he whined every few moments and kept his eyes on the point where their landlord’s cat perched.

“We should probably find Coulson.” Bruce suggested. “He’d probably know what to do better than us.”

“I’ll go get him.” Tony sighed.

“Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened earlier.” Clint said once Tony left.

Loki showed up in their yard (and, in one unique instance, in Steve’s room) at least twice a week. Bruce chocked it up to missing his old home and owner, partly because the cat regarded them with an expression like he was the true inhabitant of the house and they were just temporary nuisances. Thor’s overwhelming desire to play with anything that moved didn’t help.

“Usually he’s smart enough to head for the street when Thor spots him. I don’t know what was different this time.”

Clint nodded. He gripped a crease in the trunk and pulled himself off the ground, testing its strength. A throaty growl drifted down from Loki’s spot over their head.

“Coulson’s not in.” Tony announced once he returned. “Time for Plan B. I’ll have 911 on hold.”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing.” Clint scoffed and pulled himself up by a whorl of bark.

Once past the tricky, branchless section, Clint wove his way up the tree as if he were walking.

“You know, there’s a fireman’s saying about never finding a cat’s skeleton in a tree.” Clint called down.

“Gravity, man, gravity.” Tony shouted back up. “And you’re already up there.

“Yeah, up here with a cat I can’t even get close to!” Even with their view obscured, Bruce could hear Loki’s growl turn into a hiss. He heard Clint shift through the branches, presumably reaching for Loki. The cat yowled angrily and darted forward. Clint jerked back and Loki bolted further up the tree.

Clint regained his balance and swung himself further up the tree.

“I’d like to remind you about the lack of cat corpses found in trees.” All they could see of Clint now were a few glimpses of colored clothing.

“You were the one who wanted to climb up there.” Tony shouted back.

“Yeah, because I wanted to climb a tree, not deal with this ball of Satan.”

“Where is he now?” Bruce asked.

“He’s out on a branch too high for me to go comfortably.” Clint answered.

“Could you dislodge him or shake him off? He’s got enough branches to fall on.”

“Tony, that’s a horrible idea.”

“But it is an idea.”

They all stopped when they heard Steve’s car grumble into the car park.

“Hey, Tony?” Clint asked.

“Yeah?”

“How pleased do you think Steve would be to find me in a tree chasing our landlord’s cat?”

“…good point. How fast can you get down?”

A small shower of the remaining leaves drifted down as Clint began descending the tree. A moment later, where Bruce and Tony could make out Clint’s face through the gathering dusk, a crack rang through the air followed by the sound of a body hitting wood.

“Clint!” Tony shouted as Thor started barking again.

“I’m fine,” He hissed, “just an idiot.”

“You don’t sound fine.” They all jumped at Steve’s voice. “What were you doing?”

“Thor treed Loki, Clint went up after him.” Tony explained sheepishly. Steve and Natasha walked over to the base of the tree. Nat still had her gym bag over her shoulder and Steve’s canvas carry-case rested against the back porch railing.

“Did you bring up a cat carrier at least?”

“No.”

“Then getting him will be a lot harder in this sort of tree.”

“Do you have a lot of experience getting cats of trees?” Bruce asked.

“I’m allergic to cats and have allergy triggered asthma attacks. Putting me in a tree with a cat is asking for a medical bill. No, I’ve watched plenty of cat rescues, though. From roofs and trees.”

“Tony! You said he would be mad!” Clint shouted.

“I didn’t, I just agreed with you when you said you should probably come down.” Tony yelled back.

“Why would I be angry at Clint for climbing an exceptionally climbable tree?”

Clint’s well-worn boot shot out of the tree and pegged Tony in the shoulder.

“Wow, Barton.” Tony yelled sarcastically. “I’m sorry you’re not as good at climbing down as you are up.” He hurled the boot back in the general vicinity it came from. It crashed through the branches. Loki suddenly let out a loud yowl and a black, furry comet shot down the trunk of the tree, hit the ground at high speed, and sped off across the yard into the gathering shadows.  
Thor sped off after him, baying happily. Natasha was the only one to laugh.

“Well, that worked.” Bruce said after a beat.

“Irons, you asshole, my shoe’s stuck up here now.” Clint yelled angrily.

“I’ll go get a flashlight.” Bruce sighed.

The rest of the night was spent with Clint, Natasha, and Steve perched at various heights with flashlights scanning the branches for Clint’s missing boot. Bruce and Tony sat with Thor while alternated between barking at the unusually large birds in the tree and trying to eat Tony’s flashlight.


	5. The Porch Roof, Or: Home Vasectomy in Five Easy Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have realized that '107' already has significance within the MCU. I did not plan that.  
> Edit: 6/14/15 Changed it to 197 strictly to stop bothering myself. Hopefully will actually update soon.

Thor was Clint’s second favorite roommate. Natasha held the first slot for obvious reasons but Thor held second place easily. Even with his arms still scratched up from half-way falling out of a tree that same week. Thor remained his (second) favorite.

Clint therefore felt extra guilty about his current situation.

“No, bud, you’re cute but you’ve already got enough chub.” He whispered and pulled his plate closer to his chest.

Thor let out a quiet whine and flicked his eyes between Clint’s and the pizza.

“I’m serious. And this is the last of the pepperoni.” Clint continued. “I’m gonna get enough whining as is. Giving it to you would just make it worse.”

Thor laid down and looked at Clint expectantly.

“Yes, good boy. Still not giving you the pizza, mutt.”

“Clint?” Natasha asked from the hallway. “You’re arguing with a dog?”

“He wants the pizza.” He answered, which explained everything, even if she looked at him like it didn’t.

“I can see that. Is that the last of the pepperoni?”

“Yeah, I’m not giving it to Thor.”

She grinned. “Have fun explaining that to Tony in the morning.”

“I missed out on dinner, I deserve this.” He hugged the plate closer to himself again and Thor wuffed softly.

“You’re back late. How was class?”

“Not as wonderful as normal.” He replied. He usually loved the archery course he helped teach as a night-class PE credit. “One of the students shot Kate. It ended in tears on their part and a headache on ours. Though, I think the EMT’s spent most of their time there trying to not laugh.”

“How did they manage that?” She sat in the chair next to him and put her bare feet in the space behind his back.

“The idiot was joking around, acting like he was going to shoot her in the back while she was retrieving some arrows.” Clint mimed loosing an arrow. “Things happened, she got an arrow in the ass.”

Natasha’s grin wiggled as she kept down a snicker. “I’m assuming that particular student won’t be passing the class.”

“Very much no.” Clint ripped off a bit of his pizza crust. Thor perked up.

“Thor, can you dance?” He held the crust up. Thor reared on his back legs. He balanced for a moment before catching himself on Clint’s thigh and delicately taking the scrap of food from his fingers. The dog stayed perched on his leg while he chewed. Clint ruffled the fur on his head. It had lost its puppy softness in September. Thor was fully into his gangly, teenager stage.

“You’re a horrible liar, Barton.” Natasha yawned.

“In that I’m a liar who’s horrible or horrible at lying?” He rubbed the back of her calf. She closed her eyes and stretched out her legs.

“Well, I’m not going to call you horrible when you do that.” He found a particular knot in her muscle and she grimaced as he worked his knuckles over it.

“Go back to bed, you’ve got a rehearsal tomorrow and my fingers will still be here afterward.”

“You promising that, Barton?”

He stuck out his tongue at her. “Stop teasing me while I still have someone else’s blood under my fingernails.” She laughed and padded back up the stairs.

Thor yawned noisily. Clint grinned as he put the plate in the sink and mentally prepared himself for bed.

-

The following morning, Thor woke Clint by barking madly as the ROTC kids ran down the street. He groaned into his pillow and sleepily considered if the ratio of Natasha’s ‘good’ good mornings evened out her very creative, if slightly disturbing methods of waking up Clint when she was feeling bored. He decided that he’d need more evidence and, regardless, didn’t change the fact that he was highly annoyed with Thor at the moment. He pulled on some pants and stumbled down stairs, praying that someone had already made coffee.

“You!” Tony pegged him in the face with a dishtowel as soon as he set foot in the kitchen. “You ate my pepperoni!”

“There’s still pizza left.” He blearily defended himself.

“It’s not peperoni. One’s just cheese and the other’s got olives.” Tony huffed. “No one likes olives.”

“I like olives-”

“So why didn’t you eat it!”

“Natasha likes olives and Steve likes olives. Thor likes anything vaguely edible.” Clint ignored the interruption. “That’s four to one. Banner, you mind olives?”

Bruce looked up from his conversation with Steve on the couch. “Sorry, what did you ask?”

“Olives, aren’t they an abomination to taste?” Tony said.

“Oh, not really? I don’t like them but I don’t hate them.” He answered.

“This doesn’t prove anything, Barton. Other than you assholes should leave the peperoni for me.” Tony insisted.

  
Clint ignored him. “Guys, did I miss something?”

Steve’s jaw clenched and unclenched for a moment. His entire face was stony while Bruce looked a bit frazzled. Considering he stared down a drug squad threatening his entire academic career’s work with only some lost sleep, Clint got the impression something was up.

“Hopefully it isn’t anything that will involve you.” Bruce tried to push it off.

“Hopefully.” Steve didn’t seem impressed.

“What’s up?” Tony asked, finally catching on.

“His ex’s brother has made some threats.” Steve answered bluntly.

“He’s just worked up. He’s looking out for Betty and we didn’t exactly separate on the best of terms-”

“So he’s been calling you and threatening to find you.” Steve didn’t budge.

“You shouldn’t have answered.”

“I assumed you had accidentally left your phone downstairs and didn’t want you to miss a call.” Steve bit back. “I wasn’t expecting some asshole trying to tear my ear off thinking I was you.”

Clint frowned. Beside him, Tony shifted his weight.

“I wasn’t answering for a reason. He’ll cool down eventually. He did when we hit a rough patch.” Bruce said.

“And I’m guessing that’s why Betty didn’t tell him you guys broke up in June.” Steve crossed his arms. Bruce winced.

“He’ll let it go.” He insisted. “Or Betty will yell at him until he stops babying her.”

“Who is this asshole and what sort of threats is he making?” Clint asked evenly. He had seen enough bad relationships to be on edge, if not for Bruce’s sake then to get someone to watch out for his ex. In his experience, someone who reacted with violence to one person reacted with violence to others.

  
Bruce blew a breath out his nose and examined their faces one by one. Steve looked downright furious. It wouldn’t be directed at Bruce, even if this asshole was threatening the rest of the house by proxy, but Clint wasn’t sure Bruce knew that. He could feel anger and concern creasing his face and hated it. He knew what it was like to have people meddling in your life when you just wanted to be left alone, knew that pity was the worst part. He couldn’t see Tony from this angle but assumed that he wasn’t any happier than the rest of them.

Bruce swallowed angrily and started, “First off, this shouldn’t be any of your business. Any of you.” He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “I broke up with my girlfriend this summer. We had been living together, she was working on a project with me, we were together for a while. It was bad. I don’t want to talk about it.  
Clint nodded when Bruce paused for a breath and emphasis.

“She’s got a brother. He’s quite a bit older. Very protective of his little sister. His name is Tadd Ross, goes by ‘Thunderbolt’. I kid you not.”

Tony snorted but it didn’t sound like he found it that humorous.

“He’s in the army and just got back from overseas. He found out we broke up when he got back stateside. He kind of…He’s not happy. Evidently, Betty’s more shook up than I thought. He’s pissed and started calling me Thursday. He’s making threats but I don’t think he’ll follow through.”

“What rank is he?” Steve asked, some of the anger on his face had turned into something else.

Bruce shrugged. “He’s an officer, something semi-high ranking. Why?"

  
“I think I’ve heard of him.” Steve explained. “There aren’t many people in the US Army with the nickname of ‘Thunderbolt’. Bruce, I don’t want you anymore stressed than you are now but, maybe you should be taking this a bit more seriously.”  
So that was what Steve’s face shifted to; concern. Bruce nodded.

“There’s just- not much I can do.”

“Tell him to fuck off.” Tony piped up. Steve rolled his eyes and turned to give Tony a disapproving look. His friend spread his hands in a ‘why not?’ gesture.

“Do you think Betty could do anything to get him to lay off?” Clint suggested carefully

“Probably,” Bruce mumbled. He left off ‘but I’d have to ask her to’.

“You got any pictures of him, in case we need to keep an eye out?” Steve asked.

“He’s supposed to be in Atlanta.” Bruce’s embarrassment edged back in for a moment. Steve quirked an eyebrow.

Bruce deliberately swallowed and then said, “Sure. I’ve got some photos from the family reunion I went to.” He headed for the stairs.

Clint winced inwardly. Going from an ‘invited to the family reunion’ level relationship to ‘getting threats from older brother’ couldn’t have been fun.

Thor scratched at the door and Tony blinked away a tight expression before opening the door. A gust of cold air and an awkwardly happy dog rushed in. Bruce came back down and Thor waddled over to him. He handed a pair of photos to Steve and crouched down to ruffled Thor’s ears.

Steve inspected the pictures thoroughly before passing them to Tony.

“That’s certainly Colonel Thunderbolt Ross.” He shook his head. “I almost didn’t recognize him without the uniform.”

“Did you know him?” Tony asked and handed the photos to Clint.

“Only by reputation.” Steve replied. “To be honest, he didn’t seem like the sort of person to pull this sort of thing but…” he didn’t finish. Instead he bent down and pulled a dead leaf out of Thor’s furry underbelly.

Clint inspected the pictures. One had what looked to be a family. All five had dark hair and pale skin. The second showed Bruce with the three siblings and fair-haired woman with her arm around who he assumed to be Betty’s sister. Bruce and Betty looked happy, smiling at the camera like they meant it, not modeling for a reunion photo album. She was considerably younger than both her siblings but shared the same straight, dark brown hair, and well defined facial features. Ross himself was grinning proudly in the picture. Clint memorized the face then, on impulse, sank to his knees and called Thor over.

“Hey, bud,” He held up the photo. “See this asshole here?” Thor sniffed the picture. Clint pulled it back before it got licked. “See him? Yeah, you see this motherfucker around here you snarl like you’re as big as you think you are.” Thor blinked. It was definitely ridiculous but Clint imagined the dog was considering the photo like he knew what he was being asked. Bruce looked at him with a mixture of embarrassment and appreciation.

“You memorize this face, little dude.” Clint continued. “He’s making a mockery of the name ‘Thunder’ and being an asshole to Bruce who is obviously your favorite. You see him. Bark like you’re going to rip his arms off. Okay? Shake on it.” He held out his palm and Thorn enthusiastically slammed his paw into it, happy to have a command. “Good dog.”

Clint rubbed behind his ears and stood. He gave the photos back to Bruce.

“If Thor falls down on the job I know where Natasha keeps her extra mace.” Clint shrugged.

“Don’t do that, Clint.” Steve stepped forward. “He shows up; we’ll call the cops.”

When Natasha got back, Steve was having a semi-serious conversation with Thor about professional dogs.

“You’ve got to share some of your experience. But you’ve got to tell him.” Tony had insisted. He pointed at Thor who was currently on his back, asking someone to rub his belly. “You’ve got experience with hounds of war, which is cool, but we’re not dogs. The advice isn’t going to do us any good.

“It’s not going to do him any good, either, Tony.” Steve pointed out. Even so, he sat down beside Thor to rub the offered tummy and describe Stryker, the bomb sniffer he worked with. Thor stayed downstairs mainly because he was getting attention. Tony seemed legitimately interested, Bruce looked reassured, despite his best efforts, and Clint, while always eager to hear about dogs, had to admit he still wanted to know more about what Steve did in the military.

Natasha walked through the door in her leggings and jacket to find the five of them circled in the living room.

“…now she’s in California with Morita.” Steve said. He rubbed Thor’s nose and got a sleepy sigh in return. “She’s got her very own doggie wheelchair to help her get around. I’m glad you don’t have to do anything to pay your rent, you mooching pooch.”

“Dare I ask?” Natasha surveyed the group.

“We’re talking about dogs.” Tony answered before anyone more mature could explain. “Clint made Thor swear to guard the household with his life so Steve’s giving him pointers. So far we’ve covered, ‘if you were a pointer or any other breed that has actual legs, this would be easier’, ‘not even dogs enjoy Army rations’ and ‘don’t start a land war in Asia’.”

Natasha blinked and looked over to Clint. He gave a much more serious description and the subtle signs of her amusement disappeared.

Whatever Tony’s actual intentions, getting Steve to give Thor a crash course had made everyone seem more relaxed about the threat of an angry Col. Ross’s appearance. So, of course, Steve got a semi-panicky call from Bruce Tuesday evening.

Natasha had pressed Clint into helping her peel potatoes for dinner while Tony and Steve continued their ongoing Halo rivalry. From the kitchen, Clint could barely hear Steve’s ringtone over the blaring sound effects and Tony’s increasingly creative insults.

“Don’t you dare answer that phone!” Tony screamed and the sound of pounding buttons increased. The music cut to the pause screen and Steve’s snicker filled the sudden drop in volume.

“Hello?” He said. When he spoke again his tone had turned serious. “Yeah, where are you? See you there in two minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Tony asked.

“Bruce just made the pretense that I usually pick him up.” Steve answered, dropping his controller and heading towards the door. “I’m assuming that means Ross is around or he feels otherwise unsafe.”

Clint’s hand tightened around the potato peeler. Beside him, Natasha’s shoulders shifted back slightly.

“Do you want anyone to come with you?” Clint asked. He had already dropped the peeler and stared moving for the door. Steve nodded and Clint picked his shoes from the tangle by the front door.

Steve didn’t say anything aside from directing Clint to take the back seat. His face was even but not blank. His chin and jaw were tense and his eyes lacked any of their usually half-grin light. Clint vaguely thought of his crackpot theories regarding Steve in the Special Operation. There was an intensity and anger on his roommate’s face that he hadn’t seen before.

Bruce was waiting for them on the steps facing the street closest to Buckley Hall where his lab was held. He didn’t wait for Steve to come to a full stop before he had the door open and was in.

“Ross?” Steve barked.

Bruce shook his head. “He slipped in during lecture and I saw him when lab got out but I lost sight of him.”

Bruce’s fingers slid up and down the strap of his messenger bag. Clint watched him, noticing the faint tremor.

“You okay, man?”

“Just a little freaked out.” Bruce answered. “I wasn’t actually expecting him to show up and-” He swallowed and spread his palms over his knees, making a visible effort to calm down. “I just feel like I’m over-reacting.”

“Fight or flight doesn’t work well when you can’t see the threat, right?” Clint laughed. Bruce gave him a weak smile and Steve gave him a measured look in the rear-view mirror.

The porch lights on the house never seemed so inviting. Steve pulled into the car port and switched off the ignition. The three sat in the car for a moment as the engine popped and made its worrying old-car noises. Clint didn’t know what they were waiting for but no one moved. Bruce broke the moment by grabbing his bag and sliding out the passenger door. Tony and Thor were waiting at the table when they walked through the door. The smell of potatoes from the kitchen filled the house. Tony inspected the group before going ahead with his jibe.

“Are we going to have to call up the guard?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Bruce answered. Thor waddled over to him, zoning in on the most nervous of his people. He wagged his tail as Bruce ruffled his fur. He headed up the stairs with his bag over his shoulder and Tony and Thor trailing behind him.

Clint turned towards the kitchen, intending to return to his potato duties. He stopped short when he realized he had no idea what Natasha and Steve were doing. She stood in front of him with a knife in one hand and a half diced potato in the other. Steve faced away from him but his shoulders were at the same military angle they were in the car. Natasha looked almost amused. Clint knew she had an iron grip over her facial expressions. She never showed anything more than what she need to communicate what she wanted others to believe she was thinking. Here, he had no idea what she was saying.

Steve eventually shrugged. “Some call it a problem.” He laughed. Nat nodded and turned back to her potatoes. Steve walked to his room and closed the door behind him.

“What do you need me to do next?” Clint asked after a moment of confusion.

“I just need to boil down the potatoes and mix in the ingredients. Try to find something green in the fridge that’s supposed to be that color.” She pointed with her foot and dumped the last of the potatoes into the steamer.  
“So, Steve-”

“We had a discussion.” She interrupted him.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, then.” Clint nodded and rummaged through the misleadingly named ‘vegetable draw’.

Dinner was more subdued than usual. Not that dinner was a rowdy affair tonight it felt like they were waiting for something. They sat quietly and ate Natasha’s (truly amazing) potato soup with asparagus that hadn’t yet gained sentience. No one really said anything. Steve’s phone rang a few minutes in. He stepped into the living room to answer it.

“Hello? Ah, I see.” Clint’s stomach sank with Steve’s change in tone. “No, I think he may just want to talk and scare the shit out of Bruce but I don’t want to take any chances…Ex-girlfriend’s brother…No, sir…Quite possibly. We’ll call the cops if we need to.”

He hung up and turned around to face them. Clint was again reminded of Steve’s past. Even if he wasn’t a spec-ops specialist or the bodyguard for the sole heir of a small monarchy, he looked the part. Bruce, on the other hand, looked like someone who had just kicked a puppy.

“That was Coulson.” Steve walked back to the table. “He called to warn us that someone knocked on his door looking for Bruce.”

“You think it’s Ross.” Natasha stated.

“Yes, Coulson caught on that something was off.” Steve answered. “He said he told Ross you were at a lab, which probably won’t hold up since he just-”

The doorbell rang. Thor responded in part, barking his head off.

“Bruce, upstairs, now.” Steve commanded and turned to the door. Bruce and Tony headed for the stairs immediately. Natasha scooped Thor up and ducked into the living room. Clint sat at the table and watched as Steve waited for Natasha’s nod before opening the door. Clint got a glimpse of Ross before Steve stepped onto the porch and curtly shut the door behind him. He joined Natasha and Thor in the living room. She had one hand supporting the dog’s belly and the other held back the curtain to give her a view of the porch. Thor whined, clueing into the fact that his people were worked up about something.

“What can you see?” Clint asked.

She shifted for him to move beside her and put Thor down. Outside it appeared that Steve and Ross were having at least a somewhat civil conversation. Ross looked older than the photo had suggested. He wasn’t as tall as Steve (not that that said much) with graying hair and a weather-beaten face but he stood with a presence that Clint attributed to his military rank. He was smiling as he spoke but even without the comparison photo Clint could see through it. Steve could too, if his stiff shoulders meant anything.

Thor barked softly and Clint stooped down to ruffle his fur. In the brief moment he took his eyes away from the window, the situation escalated.

Nat hissed, “Clint, my taser!”

He jerked to his feet and heard something heavy hit the front door. He got a brief look through the window. Ross was closer to the door now, hand reaching for the doorknob. Steve had placed himself between the door and the colonel. His back hitting the wood must have been the source of the thump. Ross’s face had gone stormy and his voice picked up so that Clint could hear him, though he couldn’t pick out words. Evidently he was frustrated with kindly asking to be let in.

“Clint,” Natasha repeated. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes trained on the scene unfolding in front of the door. Thor was barking in earnest now, punctuating it with nervous whines.

Clint dashed up the stairs for Natasha’s room. He grabbed the taser and sprinted back down the stairs. Natasha held her hand out wordlessly when he reached her side. He handed over the weapon and watched the scene with her. Steve had backed Ross off the porch and onto the cement paving leading up to the house from the sidewalk. Ross was still yelling and gesturing wildly but backing up slowly. Steve’s hand was held between them, not touching Ross but ready if he made a move.

Halfway to the street Ross stopped abruptly. He slapped Steve’s hand aside and paused his yelling to catch his breath. Steve looked almost comical standing barefoot without even a jacket in the sub-freezing temperatures as the red-faced man’s chest heaved. Across the street, the light of Coulson’s front room silhouetted their landlord.

“Will you floor him if he gets past Steve here?” He asked Natasha.

“Of course.” She answered. “Barton…”

“I’m not actually going to do anything.” He assured her and walked back up the stairs at a slightly slower pace.

Bruce and Tony were in Bruce’s room when he passed the door. Tony looked out over the front lawn while Bruce stood behind him, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m real sorry about this.” He apologized.

“Don’t be. I’m personally hoping this dick punches Steve in the face so he can start a fight. He hasn’t gotten in a fight since last May. Two drunk students and a stray dog. Bad situation. He handed them their asses and walked around with a black eye and this stupid grin for a week.”

Clint grinned and opened his door. He kept a few old practice bows here, just the ones with sentimental value. He strung one and selected an arrow.

“Let me use your window.” He stepped back into Bruce’s room.

Tony’s face split in a grin but Bruce looked at him like he was insane.

Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to shoot him, just sit on the porch roof menacingly.”

“Won’t that count as a threat with a deadly weapon?” Bruce worried.

Tony shrugged and said, “I’m pretty sure Steve’s got a gun hidden in his room if we really need it.”

Clint carefully stepped out onto the roof with his bow in hand as the two began to argue about the existence of Steve’s gun.

Ross had taken another step forward while Clint was assembling his gear. Steve and him were chest to chest while Ross bellowed in his face.

“I don’t know what the little asshole told you but I am going to speak with him!” He bellowed. “The shitstain needs to hear what I have to say about how he has treated my sister. The fact that he sent some jumped-up ass out here to try and scare me off just proves it.”

“Sir, you need to calm down.” Compared to Ross, Steve’s voice was barely audible. “The relationship between your sister and my roommate is neither of our business. I’m only out here because I felt Bruce was at threat. Perhaps that is way Betty didn’t tell you about their break up until recently.”

Ross made a scandalized noise and slammed his finger into Steve’s chest, knocking him back half a step. “Listen here-”

“Need any back up here, Roger?” Clint shouted before Ross could continue. He showily twirled his arrow between his fingers with his bow laid across his lap.

Steve turned, processed what exactly Clint was doing, and sighed. Ross also realized there was an archer sitting on the roof and his face took on a shade of red Clint didn’t think possible for the exterior of the human body. In the back of his mind, Clint noticed that Thor had stopped barking for a moment.

Steve took a step forward, losing ground to Ross but getting closer to Clint. “Get off the roof, Barton.” He ordered.

“That is a threat!” Ross shouted. Clint laughed to himself as Steve rolled his eyes.

Thor’s barking picked up again and a golden streak shot across the lawn, rocketing from the car port straight at Ross.

“Steve!” Clint shouted and pointed as the two men on the ground realized that another player had come into the picture. Steve leapt for the dog as Ross sprung back. Thor dodged Steve’s hands and flung himself into the air.

Thor moved like he was aiming for Ross’s throat. Maybe Thor had understood part of Clint’s monologue about defending his home, maybe it was just instinct but every ounce of rage possessed in his small, usually-adorable body was directed towards causing as much damage to this intruder as possible. However, his legs didn’t quite match his ambition. The fact that he even cleared mid-thigh height was impressive. Considering the scream that came out of Ross when Thor sunk his teeth into the man’s crotch, he did not appreciate this.

Clint was frozen between wanting to jump off the roof to yank his dog away from his target and laughing hysterically. Steve took the first option and quickly, efficiently restrained Thor. Clint could hear Tony beginning to proceed with option two. Natasha calming walked down the porch steps with Thor’s leash in hand.

“The back door might not have been closed all the way.” She said coolly.

Steve gaped at her.

“He struck you. I saw it.”

“He poked me the chest, Natasha.” Steve yelled. “You didn’t need to sic Thor on him.”

“I didn’t do anything, the door just happened to be opened.” She shrugged.

Thor made another attempt at breaking Steve’s hold.

“Thor, sit.” Steve commanded.

The dog whined but sat.

Ross was surprisingly quiet. Clint expected another angry rant to start up or some expression of pain but the man just curled in a fetal position with his hands tucked toward his crotch.

“The cops are already on their way and I just called an ambulance.” Coulson materialized out of the darkness. He was wearing a suit. Of course he was.

Tony skidded to a halt beside Steve and Nat with his phone raised “New York state law says a dog won’t be declared dangerous if its…” He scrolled up. “‘…actions are justified because the threat, injury or damage was sustained by a person who at the time was committing a crime or offense upon the owner or custodian of the dog or upon the property of the owner or custodian of the dog.’ Dickless here punched you-”

“It was a poke!” Steve insisted.

“That’d count as an offense against an owner.” Tony continued. “We’re good here. If not, it’s your fault, Barton!” He shouted and spun to point an accusatory finger at Clint.

“Go back inside.” Steve ordered Tony and Nat. “Get off the roof, Barton.” His tone allowed no argument.

“Do you at least want a jacket or some shoes, man?” Clint asked.

Steve glared at him but followed Tony onto the porch. Clint ducked back through the window. Tony rushed past him in the hallway and up the collapsible stairs to his room. Clint could hear a printer whirring to life as he replaced his bow. Bruce stood awkwardly in the doorway to his room, worrying his fingers over a thumbnail and shifting from foot to foot.

“You okay?” Clint asked.

“Thor just tried to rip off my one time potential brother-in-law’s balls.” Bruce replied flatly.

Clint winced sympathetically. “Yeah, but Tony’s not going to let anything happen to him. His family can probably hire lawyers who get my tuition as their hourly wage.”

Bruce smiled weakly.

“Dude, look.” Clint took a step forward, debating if placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder would help. “Nothing bad’s going to happen.” His assurance would probably have been more effective if the blue lights of an ambulance weren’t flooding through Bruce’s window.

Nothing terrible, perhaps, but ‘good’ wouldn’t be an accurate descriptor.

Following an ambulance, three cops cars, and an unimpressed animal control officer all showing up and leaving within an hour, all worries about Thor’s continued existence were put to rest.

“They even gave me a name and number to call if you want to press charges.” Steve passed a card to Bruce. “The animal control officer laughed when Ross was finally carted off to the ER. She said that he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if he tried going after us. He’d probably end up in hot water with the army, too, if this goes to court.”

“Then I won’t.” Bruce quickly said. “It seems stupid to risk his career for an overreaction.”

“His career involves guns, Banner.” Tony pointed out. “An overreaction should probably corrected now.”

“I think we got ‘correction’ under control.” Clint beamed at Thor. The dog was asleep in front of the fire place, the activity of the night having worn him out.

Ross didn’t press charges. Ross didn’t even contact them. Clint thought the silence was weird until the following Friday when the doorbell rang for the Thai takeout.

“I got it!” He bellowed and shoved Tony out of the way. Unofficial House Rule: first to the door gets first dibs on the chicken satay. Steve dove out of the way as he vaulted the couch. Thor started barking wildly at the excitement and Tony swore vividly. Clint ripped open the door and stopped dead.

He knew without a doubt who this was. She looked like her brother though younger, far prettier, and with her straight, dark brown hair pulled into a long pony tail.

“Hello,” She said, ignoring the chaos that had come to a standstill inside. “Is Bruce here?”

“Uh,” Clint began, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah. Hi, Betty.” Bruce said quietly from behind him.

“I’m going to…go. Upstairs.” Clint backed out of the situation. He heard Natasha follow him.

“I’ve gotta pay for-” Tony started.

  
“No. Now.” Steve said crisply.

The four of them and Thor ended up in Tony’s room. The wide attic was filled with clutter but still had more than enough room for them. Tony kept an eye on the window facing the street. When the takeout did arrive, he disappeared for a minute and came back with several fragrant boxes and a wide-eyed look.

“I’ve walked into awkward relationship conversations but that takes the cake.” He set the food down. “Nothing will match ‘my dog bit off your brother’s dick but I need to get this food’. Ever.”

“He didn’t bite off anyone’s dick, Tony.” Steve said. He didn’t sigh, Clint was beginning to realize he’d never stop sighing if he gave a sigh every time Tony did something warranting one.

“We don’t know that. He hasn’t told us anything.” Tony pointed out.

“Thor didn’t bite anything off.” Natasha calmly plucked the satay out of Tony’s hands. “He would have bled to death in the time it took the EMTs to arrive if his penis had been severed.”

She placed a healthy serving of chicken on her plate, ignoring the slightly alarmed looks from Steve and Tony.

“How do you know that?” Steve asked.

“Do we want to know how you know that?” Tony followed.

“It’s not like I have extensive history in penis removal.” She rolled her eyes. Clint shoved a load of rice into his mouth to avoid laughing.

“How about un-extensive history of penis removal? Any history would worry me.” Tony said.

Natasha laughed, passing it off as a joke.

The conversation devolved from there.

Bruce eventually joined them. He looked tired but his eyes weren’t red enough for him to have been crying. No one said anything about Betty. Tony passed him the last of the satay and looped him into the discussion about whether or not chopsticks are efficient murder weapons.


End file.
